Melt Down
by A Self-Deprecating Person
Summary: When Hinamori has suddenly disappeared from Seireitei, Hitsugaya finds himself teamed up with the temperamental Visored, Hiyori, on a journey to bring his best friend back home. Two vastly unlike personalities - one calm, the other aggressive - will the two learn to accept each other's differences and cooperate? Or will Hinamori be lost forever to the hands of an old enemy...
1. Cancel

**A/N: Major edits. Enjoy!**

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><p>Chapter One – Cancel<p>

It's Shinji's turn to parade into my room and present me with a boatload of flowers and one of those fancy cards that reads, "Get better soon!"

As if I need anymore shit.

Already clustered my nightstand are about twenty sets of get-well gifts, mainly flowers, but if we comb through this mess, we'll maybe even find some miscellaneous crap. For instance, the package of porn novels teetering on the top of my lamp, courtesy of Lisa. Apparently _international_ bestsellers. And Mashiro's boxes of gourmet chocolates mummified in neon pink wrapping paper, miserably graced with a sloppy spotted ribbon. And let's not forget that cannibalistic Venus flytrap plant from my "old friend" Mayuri. _Whatever_ I can do with a fucking Venus flytrap, I've got no clue.

"Why, I am quite offended!" Kurotsuchi had whisked around and snatched the ugly brown pot which sheltering the monstrous plant. As he tenderly stroked his own gift with his longest fingernail—a purplish-black strip of dead, rotten keratin—the flytrap had shivered and let out a low, rumbling purr of delight. I'd noticed that the conviction that always soured his voice, that hoity-toity attitude that always managed to piss me off in the past, still reeked on his tongue, fermenting down his throat in a stinking, disgusting bile-like fungus. Yep, still as gross as ever. Granting himself the privilege, he continued through his spiel, " This species has been engineered through decades of diligent research and development in hopes of warding off unwanted pests and vermin of all sorts! And you, my old friend, may have the first prototype as a humble gift from I!"

For as long as I could remember, we—that bastard and I—have hated each other inside-out. Back in the day, Kisuke always encouraged us to shed our differences and reconcile, going about with his silly shenanigans (once, he came up with the _bright_ idea of taking the three of us out to a friendly dinner, and that turned out to be just a fucking disaster), but I always found it impossible. We had one of those innate aversions to one another, like cobras to mongooses, as if nature specifically _instructed_ us to develop the urge to rip one another's heads off.

And coming to my hospital room to present me with a gift? A custom-engineered specimen? Now that really knocked my socks off. Either old Mayuri's been flipped over, kneaded thoroughly, and thrown through a three hundred degree oven and had his brain baked to a crisp, or he's done something suspicious to the plant that'd ultimately lead me to my painful demise. Yet for some stupid reason, I took the gift. Figures.

In a nutshell, my get-well gifts are a bit overwhelming. I've got oceans of flower baskets, pots, and bouquets swamping the three-foot radius around my hospital bed and stacks of condolence letters piling up underneath my bed. Unohana had suggested with a tight lip that I clear away some of these things. Apparently, my former roommate, this uppity bitch, Soi Fon, had requested to switch rooms "due to the fact that my strange plant reeked an acidic saliva into her hair."

But despite all the trouble my friends have gone through to meticulously sift through the local gift shop in order to find a card that won't produce _too_ much scorn from me, I feel more melancholy than gratified. Every morning, I wake up to sniff the perfume of white roses, to stroke the soft petals of a wild daisy, to see the splash of color on my nightstand envelope before my eyes. Every morning, I have these painful reminders of what happened to me. As friends file in, one by one, bearing their apologies, the only feeling I can sense is pure guilt. Dammit, are they blaming themselves? But by knowing that _they_ are holding _themselves_ accountable for the incident, for me, it's like getting chopped not into two halves but a hundred little pieces.

I've got a feeling Shinji was hit the hardest. The first time he came in, I was floating on this strange dimension of swirling purples and greens, caught in the universe otherwise known as morphine. I could barely unscramble the twisting, revolving room I was in, but I did remember a watercolor painting of a bellflower on the wall and a mean, cranky nurse. Shinji walked wordlessly into my room, rolling behind him a squeaky vehicle—I'm guessing it was a wagon—that smelled like flowers. I heard the screech of a visitor's chair being drawn up to my bedside, and for the next thirty minutes, garbled, incomprehensible words dribbled into the room like thick, goopy soup. It took ten minutes before I realized Shinji was apologizing.

Somehow, I managed to muster up the willpower of twenty elephants and force out something that sounded like, "Gerrhellouddamroom, bahry. Neeshleep." _Get the hell outta my room, baldy. I need sleep!_ And the last thing that my mind managed to register in my fucked-up brain was a slight upturn dancing at the corners of that damn baldy's mouth.

But now, the dick saunters back in, a bouquet of yellow lilies in hand and a jar of barbecue sauce tucked under his arm. Grinning stupidly, he twirls the sauce jar on his index finger. "Hey, asshole!" His face is clear and upbeat, and whatever agitation from that other day seems to have been washed away with his morning rinse. "How're ya doin' there?"

"Ain't it obvious?" I snort, crossing my arms. "I'm stuck in this here hellhole with nothin' t'do, an' why the fuck are ya givin' me a jar o' BBQ sauce?"

Shinji leans over the foot of my bed and raises an eyebrow. "Who said this was fer _you_, stupid?"

"What normal people walk 'round town, draggin' 'round a damned jar o' BBQ sauce?" I retort. "As far as I'm concerned, there's nothin' to cook wi' that shit-slime 'cause this is fuckin' _Soul Society_! Not a summertime rib fest!"

"That's fine. There's wild piglets out in Rukongai, so Kensei can bring his rifles from back home an' we can all go huntin', cook us some spareribs an'—"

"No way I'm doin' that!" I find myself launching a convenient pot of tulips at the baldy's flat, gross face. Shinji sidesteps, and the pot shatters against the wall, staining it brown and pink with a mess of dirt, clay shards, and petals.

Shinji jabs a finger at my miss and sniggers, "Hah! You gettin' rusty, Hiyori? 'Cause ya missed, dumbass!"

"Dickhead! Get yer damned ass outta here 'fore I beat the crap outta ya!" I snarl, clenching my hand into a tight fist that can effortlessly snap a pencil clean in half. A miraculous resurgence of strength—even if only for two or three seconds—will be extremely useful right now, provided that I can fly at him, full speed ahead, rip his bloated head right off, and stomp over his entrails.

"Someone seems to be having their monthly visit—" My next projectile, a vase of robust red roses, nails him square in the face. Shinji squawks, stumbling backwards and bonking his head against the wall with an agonizing "clack." Satisfied, I whoop in a way Rose would regard as _ungraciously_. Wiping the rose debris from his face and contorting his flat face into a grimace, Shinji swears something muddled under his breath.

"What's that?" I demand instantly. "Say it t'my face, dickface!"

Shinji waves the comment off, rolling his eyes. "_Dickface?_ That's new…but aside that," he huffs, flicking a stray petal out of his ruffled hair, "I needa talk t'ya 'bout somethin'. Somethin' real important."

"Huh?" I glance up in surprise.

Shinji sets the barbeque sauce on the floor beside a pile of marigolds and daisies. He faces the window beside my bed, displaying a perfect view of the bustling entrance to the hospital. Individuals, whether they're hospital workers, visitors, patients, or pedestrians, hurry in and out almost nonstop. During my hellishly dreary stay here, I've taken the opportunity to familiarize myself with the routines of these people to point in which I've got a perfect sense as to when they come and leave. Nine in the morning? The Fourth Division's Third Seat is probably tiptoeing in, smuggling a freshly-baked croissant under her robes, and this spiky-haired dude with a tattoo very much resembling Kensei's on his face most likely taking his leave from visiting that weird-as-fuck canine captain on the second floor.

I notice how…_forlorn_ Shinji seems as he watches Shinigami stroll the streets, laughing and socializing in the manner like we did so a century before all this shit happened. Not too long ago, he was whispering behind a closed hand with his fellow captains, spouting unnecessary hisses of "rumor has it" and "didja hear?" and snickering with a sly smirk pasted all over his face. Us seven, whom he was evidently stuck with for the last hundred years, certainly weren't his only friends. Honest to say, Shinji was a pretty popular guy back in the day.

"Hey, you gonna talk?" I hedge. As Hachi often advises, I ditch the rough edge to my voice, trying to live up to his "show some consideration towards peers" motto.

Tearing his gaze off the window with clear-as-day reluctance, Shinji redirects his attention on me. "Ah, yeah. Almost forgot why I'm here!" He lets out an ashamed laugh that falls apart a little too quickly. He clears his throat, pondering for a moment (in the meantime, my nerves are on the verge of snapping from the anticipation). Finally, he nods. "Central 46 just issued the Visored Repeal."

I blink. "What?"

Shinji takes a deep breath and hauls a visitor's chair, screeching up to the foot of my bed. He sinks down slowly, shifting around, and once settled, he looks me directly in the eye. "Aizen's confessed, Hiyori. I went t'the trial an' saw it all. So now the Central 46 has announced all o' his misdoings publicly, ya know, all the shit he pulled off before an' during the period o' the war."

"So what?" I say, rusty gears refusing to click together in my head. "What's it freakin' have t'do with a 'Visored Repeal'? I'm assumin' that it involves us, so get t'the point."

Shinji chews his bottom lip—a habit indicating that he's unsure of something. I heave a sigh in exasperation. If he's coming all the way here to tell me something, he sure is taking an awfully long time to get it out.

"He's confessed to it all" he announces. He seems like he's got more to say, but judging on the way his eyes flicker back and forth between two spots of the ground, he's pensive. At last, Shinji gulps in an enormous breath of air and cuts to the point, "You know how it works, right? The criminal charges an' shit?"

"Yeah."

"Well, the Central 46, like I said before, listed all o' his crimes. Treason, homicide, voluntary manslaughter, fraud – a whole goddamned list o' stuff. I swear, the list took about thirty minutes or so to read. It was that horrible. I sat there, thinkin' to myself, _Goddamn, Aizen. That's some real shit ya've got goin' there_. Once the magistrate or whoever finished readin' to Aizen all of his misdoings, someone asked 'im if he had anythin' else to confess to."

I squirm in my spot. An idea nips at the back of my mind; I think I've got an idea of where this is going—but I'm not risking asking.

"So he was quiet for, say, twenty or thirty seconds. The magistrate was 'bout t'move on, 'til he tilted his head, an'…" Shinji's voice trails off.

"And?" I push. "An' what?"

"An' he," Shinji says, "admitted it."

"It? That—"

"He confessed t'that night. Went an' stared at me like he knew I was in that room all the time, an' retold all the shit that happened that goddamned night."

I nearly choke on the air. Suddenly, I feel all discombobulated again, like being on morphine, and Shinji's words contort into a jumbled, inaudible mess again. I'm sure I heard him the first time, but my mind throws itself against the walls of my head, screaming for him to repeat those sweet, beautiful words. I guess that's what "that's music to my ears" truly means. And now? I don't know whether to holler or to cry. Aizen-fucking-Sousuke confessed. He fucking confessed!

"Th-that's great!" I sputter. "Must've gotten him another few thousand years on his plate. Spillin' the beans at least, eh!"

"Yeah." I meet Shinji's gaze, but he doesn't show the same enthusiasm for the news. Instead, those hazel eyes stare bleakly at his clasped hands, devoid of the light and joy of pure happiness. Hell, it's as if all happiness has been sucked away with a straw.

I remember that first night when Kisuke managed to separate the Hollow matter from our bodies and return us to a fairly stable state. I was as sore as hell; every inch of my body screamed to be released from whatever was eating me, inside-out, and that night, I let Kisuke hold me, despite the fact that I'd probably lose control and lash out at any given second. But Shinji spent the entire night, resisting the anesthesia's influence. He cursed Aizen at the top of his lungs, screaming out the most cold-blooded words that seemed to even give the air a chill. Using his own body as a battering ram, he barged himself against the walls of his room, demanding to go back to Soul Society to beat Aizen's ass, but Tessai put us all in secure barriers in the case that the Inner Hollows managed to resurface. Tessai's predictions were on the spot. Shinji almost pried open the barrier with raw strength, but Kisuke settled him down with a stronger and potentially more dangerous anesthesia.

Suddenly, a thought hits me. "We ain't outlaws anymore!"

Shinji doesn't answer. He continues to stare blankly, and a perturbed feeling begins to rustle me because this isn't a typical Shinji reaction, but in fact, the complete opposite. He is the life at a party, the one who proposes all of those senseless drinking games and the one who gets the most insane after a few shots. He is someone who'd make light of a situation no matter how much it just _sucks_, even if that light is dying candle flicker. He is that obnoxious morning person who bustles around, clanking platters and silverware together in a "breakfast symphony," saying bullshit like "What's the story, morning glory?" and "The early bird gets the worm," which inevitably draws up in me the urge to stuff a pancake down his constantly whistling windpipe.

I continue, "He confessed, so we're innocent, right?"

He raises his eyes slowly and drums his fingers thoughtlessly against the end of my bed. "I guess."

My nerves finally snap; I can't take it any longer. This mope-head's already gotten my patience down to a thin wire. I gave him three generous minutes to step it up, and what? He sits here, completely wasting my time, whereas I can be going to cafeteria and playing cards with the other patients. "Yo, cheer up, dumbass!" I pound my fist against the cheap hospital mattress. "We oughta be partyin' 'cause o' this! Not bein' glum!"

"Idiot." Shinji's eyes darken to shade of gray. "Ya don't get it."

"Of course I get it!" I shoot back hotly. "He's confessed, so we're innocent, right? That means we're free t'go an' Soul Society won't rag us fer it! Problem solved. Once Unohana gives the word, I'm outta here, and we can all go back home!" I beam, surprised by how much I like my own idea.

"_Dumbass!_ They're considerin' on lettin' us back in!"

_Letting us back in_. My mind does somersaults, trying to decipher the message. "Lettin' us back?" I respond. "Where?"

"Idiot." Shinji rises to his feet and crosses over to my window. "Lettin' us back into Soul Society. The Gotei 13. Where else?"

"_What_."

"Don't play dumb, Hiyori." He whisks around, wearing a face of exasperation and frustration and anger. "You heard me. Our names a cleaned off, so the Central 46 is considering allowing us back in— as Shinigami again. captains' vote in three days. You know the drill."

The process in which Soul Society approves the proposal of a law is complex. First, someone of captain or lieutenant-level rank must appeal on the floor before all of the captains and state their business. I know Kyouraku's done this multiple times, so Lisa always explained stories of how he often slipped up on the speech and almost immediately, the Soutaichou shot him down. Once the case has been appealed, the Soutaichou decides whether or not it's reasonable to debate on. Once he casts his verdict, he gives the captains and the Central 46 one month to come up with a decision and after that month, the captains debate, and if the law gets through, the Central 46 have it off, where two-thirds of those guys—the same organization that sentenced us to our deaths that night—need to agree in order to ratify the new law, in this case, the repeal. Simple civics. I actually paid attention in that class back during the Academy days, albeit unconditionally.

"So," Shinji sighs. "We get the possibility of coming back here."

"We get to come back to Soul Society." I test the words on lips. They're like a jagged puzzle with malformed pieces that click together in that satisfying, perfect way. The words are just too alien. I squint up at Shinji. "But wait, who . . . who the hell started all of this?"

He is quiet for a fleeting moment. "A bunch o' captains, actually. Ukitake, mainly, but Kyouraku and Unohana also pitched in. Our old friends."

Our old friends, eh? Those three Captains have been on the job ever since I can remember. Hell, I'm surprised that Ukitake hasn't tripped up to some kind of cardiac arrest or something yet.

"Yeah," I say, nodding. "Soul Society's gonna have to deal wi' us sometime or later. If it weren't fer us, they would've gotten their asses whooped real good by that Aizen."

"Yeah," Shinji responds distantly.

I cross my arms. "So we ain't gonna take up their offer if it passes. Isn't that right?"

Shinji's eyes widen. My heart hammers in my chest. Why's he looking so shocked? Was that the wrong question? He makes his way back to the end of my bed and sits himself back down. "What?" he says quietly, absolutely serious. "What didja say, Hiyori?"

"We ain't gonna come back, are we?" I repeat evenly. "After all we've been through, we ain't comin' back even if they approve this Visored Repeal bullcrap."

He chews on his bottom lip. "Well, that _is_ a possibility –"

"A _possibility_?" I explode. I never expected that diarrhea to come out of Shinji's mouth. It took me by complete surprise, like a cat hiding in the bushes, using his trippy stripes to cover himself up, and ambushing me right as I walk past. My shoulders shake; I can't control them. "Of course we're not comin' back t'this hellhole! They treated us like _shit_ and now they're askin' us to come back? We _will not _come back – that's nuts!"

"Hiyori!" Shinji's voice is sharp. "I'm just sayin' that we're not exactly sure of what to do right now – it can go either way!"

"Either way?" I breathe. "No, absolutely not. We're s'posed to immediately turn it down. I mean, what happened to our pride? They cast are asses out, so by comin' back, it'll look like they got the better of us!"

"It won't –" Shinji begins.

"It _will_," I assert. "We'll look like snivelin' wusses, that's what. There's not way I'm comin' back. I ain't gonna. Nope."

"Why not, Hiyori?" Shinji asks, heaving a sigh. "We've got our plates clean. We're good to go."

"You don't realize what bullshit I'm hearin' right now. So you _wanna_ come back?" I challenge, my voice quavering. "After that night? After that bastard? That night was hell fer us – a livin' hell. An' ya wanna come back to the place that ordered to have us slaughtered off like sick cattle? These guys – Central 46, Gotei 13 – tried t'kill us, Shinji. I have no flippin' clue as to why you'd wanna come back to a place that tried to," I take a deep breath and with the most bitter tongue, I hiss, "_fuckin' kill us_ _like _– "

"Hiyori, like I said before, we're really undecided at the moment," Shinji cuts in, raising his hands in some kind of peaceful gesture. "Some o' us have the same ideas as you – Kensei, Lisa. Some o' us wanna stay like Rose an' Hachi. Some o' us are undecided, and some o' us are just flat-out confused!" His face takes on an expression of hope. "But we'll decide on this later – together."

"Listen, Shinji," I respond bristling. "Even if the rest of us wanna stay, _I'm_ gonna say _no. _And that's final."

Shinji clenches the end of my mattress, his knuckles paling bleach white. When he speaks again, he whispers, "But Hiyori, don'tcha realize our lives'll be back t'normal?"

"Face it, dumbass," I say slowly. "Our lives'll _never_ be back t'normal, got it? Ya should be aware o' that by now."

He ignores my comment and goes on wistfully, "Everything'll be back to normal. We'll be back home in the Divisions and . . . we'll live like we did a hundred years ago. You slappin' me wi' yer sandal flip-flop thing and me talkin' 'bout Shunsui b'hind his back. Fightin' Hollows, protectin' Soul Society." He raises his gaze solemnly. "Don'tcha miss those days, Hiyori?"

"Bullshit." I point at the door. Hopefully, his small brain will analyze it as a sign to _get the hell outta here_. "You talked about Shunsui even in the Human World. And I still mauled you – _in the Human World_."

"It ain't the same, Hiyori." Shinji gets up and makes his way towards the exit, slowly. "We belong back here – not in the Human World."

"We don't belong here."

"Just think 'bout it, Hiyori."

And Shinji slips out the door without another word.

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><p><strong>AN: How'd you all like it? Feel free to leave some feedback in the review box!**


	2. Cleaning Out

**A/N: Minor edits. Cleaning stuff up and making things flow a bit better. Enjoy!**

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><p>Chapter Two – Cleaning Out<p>

I feel betrayed. Like everybody, out of the blue, rose up behind me from the bushes, armed with butter knives, and said, "Oh, Hiyori! You've served your purpose, so all that's left you to do is to get out of our lives! Thanks and all!" and stabbed me with each and every one of those goddamned knives. Hell, that's a pretty rough feeling. I don't know whether to cry or to scream; my feelings are jumbled together into some nonsensical puzzle that doesn't even give you a place to start. What's left for me to do is utter out some kind of strangled ululation that's supposed to resemble the crossbreed of a cry and a scream – see how screwed up I am?

For one, I'm really pissed off at that baldy Shinji. It's like he turned bipolar, going from "Oh yeah! I fuckin' hate this hellhole!" to "Well, maybe we should _consider_ comin' back here . . . after all, it's our home." He always struck me as the bastard who hated Soul Society just as much as I did and wouldn't have given a damn if the place burned to cinders. And even _considering _an offer to return to the very place that persecuted him? It's preposterous. I mean, Shinji's one of us. We're supposed to hate Shinigami after what they've done to us. They deceived us, they double-crossed us – and now, they're begging on their knees, prostrating like helpless sycophants, pleading ever so pathetically for us to come back. At least that's how _I_ envision them to be.

Completely unaware, I've been filing my thumbnail so vigorously that almost a quarter of it has been dulled away, revealing a crescent moon of pink, angry flesh. I curse and chuck the stupid file right out the open window. There's an agonized "Ow!" from outside that's then followed by an irate "What the hell's this?"

"Frickin' liberals," I snort. I force out a held breath slowly. Things have just been going wrong lately for me. First, getting sliced in half by that sneering bastard Gin. Next, getting stuck _here_. And now? Having to deal with Shinji's bullshit. I don't know what I've done, but Karma just hates me; the odds are never in my favor. Just look at my poker stats. Heck, even Mashiro beats me every time.

"No duh," Shinji had one day remarked lazily from his safe alcove in the warehouse, observing me as I vented out my vexation on the already-wrecked sofa. "Yer just bad at cards in general."

"No I ain't!" I'd snarled, whipping around, clenching a fistful of sofa fluff. "I was just unlucky!"

If that's the case, I guess I'm an "unlucky" person.

I slump back on my pillows, staring dully at the clock on the far wall of the room. Time sure goes by slow. It's only been two days since Shinji landed the shit on me, but it feels like two years of griping and complaining. I think I can write an entire book – heck, an entire bestselling series – about how much my life sucks.

There's a knock at the door. I blow a strand of hair out of my face and lethargically mumble, "What."

Kensei, sporting a fresh buzz cut, marches in, his arms crossed over his chest. He pulls up a visitor's chair brusquely and plops his ass down stately. "Hey, Hiyori."

"Whaddaya want?" I demand, straightening in my bed to match his squinted gaze. "If ya want porn, go find Lisa."

He jerks at my accusation like a startled rabbit, left eyelid twitching as if he's preparing a crappy retort, but after a few more seconds of thought, he decides against it and shrugs, eyes floating towards the open window. "Nah. I haven't talked to you in a while."

"Really," I huff.

"Last time I checked, our last exchange was an argument over whether or not eggplants were vegetables."

I inspect my disgusting fingernail. "Well, they ain't no veggies. They've got seeds like tomatoes, so there ya go."

Kensei snorts, rolls his eyes, and just barely under his breath, mutters, "They _are_ goddamned vegetables."

"What's that?" I spit, ready to fly out of my nest of pillows and strangle the redneck. I may be in Physical Rehabilitation, but that doesn't necessarily mean my strength's washed down the drain. "Are ya denyin' what I'm sayin'?"

"I didn't say anything, shortstop." Kensei scowls.

I squeeze my hand into a fist. "Shaddap! I ain't that short!" I bark. "At least I got _some_ evidence of a brain, you frickin' redneck –"

"Quit being such a total Mashiro!" Kensei growls, holding up a hand. Apparently, he's been working out because of how much bigger his bicep looks. Douchebag. "I didn't come here to argue about the categorization of fucking eggplants." He narrows his eyes. " I wanna know what you think about this 'Visored Repeal' shit. Shinji told you about it, right?"

My spite for that baldy courses right back through my arteries and veins again like a searing, hot venom. Hirako Shinji. A bastard. A good-for-nothing bastard. And what Kensei just did simply made my day: I was asked how _I_ felt. Since when did people want _my_ opinion – voluntarily? Usually, people ignore me, so the only way to get their negligent attentions is to jump around and make as much noise as possible. Only then, will they turn a head and recognize you. But given the free range to answer as I chose is like dumping an entire universe on me. I have so much room to improvise and rant and complain. I've got no boundaries; no one will stop me. It's bliss.

So immediately, I respond, "It sucks ass. I wanna punt those Central 46 bastards' heads off their necks, one by one. Nothin' more."

Kensei is shocked for some reason. He gives a weird look, which I interpret as a queue to keep on going, but that's all I've got to say really. After about thirty seconds of that awkward look, he runs a hand through his short cut and nods his head curtly. "It sure does suck ass."

We are both silent for a moment, each staring at some random inanimate object: Kensei squinting at a silver vase by my nightstand and me glaring at that nettlesome clock on the far wall. I think I'm going to ask Unohana to replace that piece of shit because it seems like it's fallen pretty far behind.

"I seriously cannot believe how split we are on this goddamned decision," Kensei says.

"Huh?"

The redneck abruptly stands, unintentionally knocking his chair backwards. "I said, _I cannot believe how fucking split we are on this goddamned decision_!" His anger is massive; I'm almost blown away by its turbulence like a little maple leaf whipping around in the squalls of a tornado. Kensei continues with the same vehemence, "Soul Society's fucking ripping us apart, you know that? We were once a tight group, like a brick wall, indestructible. We were sturdy and independent – together. We could handle any obstacle we faced." He numbers off on his fingers. "Menos Grande ambushes, random Vasto Lordes, tax day – each and every one of us played an important role in ensuring the welfare of the others.

"Shinji was the organizer who made sure nobody fucked up. Lisa was the practical thinker – heck, she's one of the most rational people I know – who prevented bullshit from happening." Yep, that's just about true. Even though he's a bastard right now, Shinji was pretty adept at keeping us all in line. And Lisa could pick out the littlest flaws and problems that the rest of us happened to overlook.

"What's more," Kensei continues, settling down a bit. He sets his fallen chair back up and slowly sinks into it. "Hachi was our protector who manned up to most extreme situations, and Rose was the optimist, never thinking once that the goddamned glass was upside down –"

"Ya mean 'half-empty,' dumbass?" I interrupt. But aside that, he's right again. Hachi always sucked it up, and Rose, even though he was a bit eccentric with his music fetish, he was typically on the bright side.

"I don't care," Kensei says. "Love was the dude who broke up conflicts, Mashiro was the hyperactive bitch who kept us all on our toes –" Love was usually the one to stop my flip-flop from reaching someone's face, and Mashiro was so freaking annoying that it's hard _not_ to stay alert around her. Getting tickled in your sleep is no fun at all. " –And you, Hiyori, were the one responsible for waking all of us up to our senses in the case of a problem or other bullshit." That's true, I guess.

Kensei catches his breath for a second. I sneak a peek at the clock: it's been about ten minutes. "As for me, I was responsible for keeping the rest of us safe. I was on the front lines." That just about sums it up. Kensei's one of our strongest, most reliable men. "Understand how it works, Hiyori?"

"Who said didn't?" I snap. "Now what's the point o' this rampage? I don't get it."

"You don't get it? Soul Society's breaking us apart, Hiyori! Don't you see it? Some of us have fallen astray to its influence –" Shinji. " – and obviously, we're gonna flop like a handful of guppies!" Kensei bangs his fist on the railing of my bed, producing a deep dent in the shoddy steel.

I cringe at the sudden assault. Honestly, I've never heard our redneck say anything so profound. Usually it's just about sports stats and hunting and fishing, but a comprehensive analysis of our current circumstances? I've got to say: congrats to you, Kensei, my old pal. I find the urge to speak, "Wow, that . . . sucks."

"There's more," he says, gripping the pummeled foot of my bed tightly. "They want me to be Captain again. A Captain, Hiyori, of the Ninth Division – _again_."

My ears perk up. "Huh? Really?" Well, of course. There are practically thousands of open positions in the Gotei 13. Soul Society's so short on soldiers, they're making a freaking kid as a Captain of the Tenth. A freaking kid! And don't get me started on that dog Captain of the Seventh. Now that's pathetic. I notice that Kensei's not particularly pleased at this, much to my surprise. "Hey, why aren't ya thrilled? Yer gettin' yer position back, redneck."

"No," he states firmly. "Absolutely not. They want _me_ to take over for that lying son-of-a-bitch, Tousen, who upholds no honor whatsoever as to murder his entire squadron and stab his Taichou right in the fucking back! And you know what I said? 'No fucking way. Do you think I have no pride at all?' It was me! I failed to see through my own man! I could've prevented that night from happening _only_ if I'd paid more attention to that sneaky shit! And they expect to take back the Division I failed?" Kensei, suddenly enraged, effortlessly twists out of his chair once again, grabs its leg, and launches it out the open window, out into peaceful streets of Seireitei. We hear a muffled crash in the distance. Kensei fumes, not budging from his spot, heaving in not exertion but in anger.

"Whoa, Kensei," I begin carefully.

"No, Hiyori, screw it," he cuts in, shaking his head. "I just needed to let some air out. Just thought that I'd come to you because . . . well, never mind."

He turns to walk out the door, fist still clenched in a death grip.

"Kensei," I say.

He regards me attentively.

"Takes these, will ya?" I toss him the package of porn novels Lisa gave me, which he catches neatly. "Go away and unwind a bit. We all need some time to think over this bullshit."

* * *

><p>For the rest of the day, Kensei's riveting lecture lingers in my head like a fog. Is this Visored Repeal seriously going to rip our group apart? That's the last thing I want to happen. We're a family; we're supposed to stick together . . . right? As far as I'm concerned, I know all seven of these guys like the back of my hand. I know their likes, their dislikes, their advantages, their disadvantages. I'm not usually one to say this, but these guys are some of the best friends I've ever had, and it'd really suck to lose them.<p>

I empty the contents of my last vase, dumping stale water out the window along with some shriveled daisies. Earlier, after Kensei's ventilation visit, Unohana had come in, resquesting that I clean out the room.

"Hiyori-san, please clean out the unnecessary items from your room. I have a nice patient coming in to stay in this room with you due to the fact that all other Physical Rehabilitation rooms are currently occupied." She'd asked sweetly, but there was a dangerously sharp edge to her tone.

Regardless, I responded, "So that's what it is. You were avoidin' puttin' other people in this room wi' me!"

The Fourth Division Captain's voice had lowered warningly. "After the debacles between you and Soi Fon-taichou, I implore you to treat our guest with respect." She didn't have to add in an "or else." I got the message – crystal-clear.

"Yes, Unohana-taichou."

And so, I'm wrapping up my clean-up procedures – thank goodness. I'd given the gourmet chocolates Mashiro had originally given to me to that little pink Girl Scout who visits from time to time, asking for food because this "Ken-chan" figure didn't make her breakfast. It wasn't until today when I noticed that Eleventh Division badge on her arm; I suddenly had a newfound respect (and slight fear) of the Girl Scout. Anyway, she snatched up the chocolates faster than a rattlesnake gobbling down its mouse and scurried away, stuffing several bonbons in her squirrel-like cheeks, happy as a clam. Feeling just a bit guilty of giving away Mashiro's present – ain't my fault that I can't eat those chocolates because of a dumbass liquid diet Unohana just _has_ to put me on – I gave her the Venus flytrap Kurotsuchi, in turn, gave me.

"Here, take it," I said, shoving the snapping plant into her arms. "I don't want it."

"Cuuute!" she'd drawled, poking at its spiky leaves. The plant coiled in fear. "Thanks a lot, Hiyorin!"

As for Kurotsuchi, I waved him out of my mind. Sons of bitches don't need their gifts refunded.

Speaking of bitches, I'm hoping my new roommate isn't one. After all, I can't stand them after living a week stuck with Soi Fon. I sit on the edge of my bed, thinking about all the times Soi Fon had downgraded my background and my loyalties and my honor, thinking about all the times I had resisted the urge to stuff a sock down her goddamned throat and all the times I actually _did_ stuff a sock down her throat – or at least into her mouth. Hey, if you screw me over, you're fucked.

I hear a knock at the door. It's my new roommate.

"What, come in," I say bluntly.

The door opens to reveal a thin, brunette girl wearing grass green hospital pajamas. Her thin hair is tied up into a neat little bun atop her head really impeccably, leaving not a single stand out, which I'll admit is much unlike my own pigtails. Just with that stuck-up neatness, I think I already don't like her.

"Oi," I say, regarding my visitor coolly. "Who the hell are you?"

I'll admit that's not much of a question; more like a demand. Nonetheless, she looks up with her big, tired eyes, dark-brown like a cow's, and ever so slightly trembles. She answers in barely a whisper, "H-hello . . ."

Somewhat pissed, I respond sardonically, "You'd better speak up some. I ain't gonna strain my ears just to hear ya talk. What'd they call ya?"

The girl swallows nervously, and her cow eyes drift to the floor. "My name . . ."

"Yeah, you're name. Hell, don't you have one?"

Startled, my visitor jerks. "Yes, I do."

I am getting vexed. "Okay then, why don't you tell me your name? It ain't hard." It's like leading a slow kindergartener through the steps of tying their shoes or adding one plus one.

The girl speaks quietly (I guess I'll have to strain my ears after all), "Hi-Hinamori. Hinamori Momo."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: How'd you all like it? Feel free to leave some feedback in the review box!**


	3. Moth and Light

**A/N: Minor edits, you all! Enjoy!**

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><p>Chapter Three – Moth and Light<p>

_Focus. Focus is the key._

Hitsugaya grips his sword upright with his right hand, his left stationed readily at his side. He can feel the bumps and ridges of his hilt, every signature texture and material, rubbing gently against his skin. Hyorinmaru is a dignified character, almost as regal as Kuchiki Byakuya; it's only natural for him to have his hilt made of the most pristine resources.

"Sit upon the frozen heavens, Hyorinmaru." His words, echoing through the frozen stalactites and stalagmites, reverberate through the cavern, which is now frozen and about fifty degrees cooler thanks to his frequent sessions. It is a typical secluded cave nestled in the deciduous mountainside. With only the sound of songbirds chattering up in the foliage outside, it provides the ideal training location for his power. Lest his techniques rage out of control, the only souls victimized are woodland creatures lacking the sense to stay away. Otherwise, no one will get hurt. He can't afford to let that happen again.

Upon his command, Hitsugaya's Zanpakuto lengthens about five inches and a chain and crescent-bladed mace materializes, snapping swiftly onto the end of its hilt. He's always preferred not to use the chain; it got in the way during tight battles. He recalls an experience back at the Academy: his footwork flew loose and he stumbled over the long chain while dueling his old friend, Kusaka. The jagged scar on his right bicep, pale-white against the light complexion, remains a reminder to refrain from using the wretched attachment. But nevertheless, it was an insult to Hyorinmaru, who turns away with pride at the mere thought of neglecting his beautiful crescent tail, much in the manner of the narcissist Ayasegawa and his Ruri'iro Kujaku. _Don't be cocky. We can't be thinking like that anymore._

Hitsugaya closes his eyes. He's exhausted. Every joint in his body wails from overexertion, screaming for just one day to recuperate from the harrowing drills and exercises. He's probably pulled a plenty amount of muscles and tendons today, and there's a strange pain going about his right ankle. Six hours already spent training in this cavern. He'd even foolishly entrusted Matsumoto to take care of presenting the week's report to the Soutaichou.

But it is all done in vain. This training. This exertion. His Bankai is getting absolutely nowhere.

For the last month, Hitsugaya has bullied himself out of much-needed slumber to train. Perfect his "imperfect" Bankai. The cavern is falling apart at the seams from countless attempts at smooth runs of Hyoryu Senbi and Ryusenka, not to mention the gaping hole in the west side of mountain, courtesy of a frenzied Hyoten Hyakkasou. And his efforts are still fruitless; he feels no change in the power coursing through his body, no change in frequency at all. Just frustration and the urge to give up completely.

"Dammit." He's lost focus. The thin line of connection between him and his Zanpakuto drowned in the whirling sea of his thoughts and worries. Hitsugaya deactivates his Shikai and plops down on a weathered, round stalagmite, heaving laboriously. "_Dammit_." His tired fist pounds the cold, hard rock. He grits his teeth until his molars feel like cracking in half. "I'm never going to protect Hinamori like this!" His fervent words ring off the walls of the cave angrily. Several icicles above his head quiver in fear. He stabs his Zanpakuto into the frozen ground and crosses his arms. Every rock in the cave whispers, "That's disrespectful," but he doesn't care; he can't help it.

This is all too confusing. An entire month of working his ass off, completely reworking his schedule to fit time for these sessions – only to stand in the exact spot as where he was in the beginning. There should be – at least – a sliver of improvement. Perhaps more efficiency or strength or flexibility. Not a hint. He is sure that _he_ has put in the effort, but something pesters him in the back of his mind. _Hyorinmaru?_ It's as if his Zanpakuto refuses to improve.

"Listen, Hyorinmaru." Hitsugaya regards his sword with narrowed eyes. "I don't know what's the deal with you, but," he stands up and brushes the grit off his knees, "but we're in this together, so you're going to have to collaborate."

Unresponsive as always. His Zanpakuto stays wedged in the ground, resolute in its own beliefs. Sighing and wiping his sweat-drenched forehead with his arm, Hitsugaya yanks Hyorinmaru from the ground and sheathes it behind his back in one, fluid motion.

His Zanpakuto has never been so…obstreperous.

* * *

><p>Weeks earlier, Hitsugaya urged himself to walk into Hinamori's hospital room. He went, armed with an apology, but that didn't matter; she had just undergone treatment—some kind of vitamin and nutrient restoration—and anesthesia still had its cloud of influence over her.<p>

"She will be sleeping for the next week or so, so you won't be expecting a word out of her," Unohana laughed after scanning through her clipboard of reports. But she grew serious. "Hitsugaya-taichou. There is something that concerns me quite a bit about Hinamori-san."

"_What?_" His heart raced, and knowing for the better, he braced himself for the worst.

Unohana removed a paper from her reports and handed it to him. "Hinamori Momo has been facing a number of relapses since the course of her post-operation therapy. Physical deterioration, lack of energy, susceptibility to sickness – it has all accumulated up into one condition. Depression."

"_Depression_?"

"Yes, psychological depression. When she regains consciousness, you need to be careful around her."

"What? How can you tell? She's unconscious!" Hitsugaya blurted unthinkingly.

But Unohana shook her head. "I'm sorry to say, Hitsugaya-taichou, but Hinamori-san has been showing signs of depression even before this operation. It began just around after when we faced that Aizen murder incident in Soul Society. This operation will yes, save her, but in retaliation, make her depression worse."

He entered Hinamori's dark room, closing the door behind him, straining not to make a single noise. Although even the noisiest traffic in the universe wouldn't even stir her from her deep slumber, he tiptoed across the room—and what he saw appalled him. He could barely recognize the frail, stick-thin girl, paler than a ghost, laying in the room. The gentle rise and fall of her chest seemed laborious; her face, streaked with trenchant tired lines, slightly scrunched up in exertion even in rest. But the name on the clipboard brought Hitsugaya back to his senses: this was Hinamori Momo.

But she wasn't. This girl was not the energetic, enthusiastic friend from Rukongai who would pick up a curious snail and make it a cozy home with some leaves, twigs, and soil. She was an emaciated prisoner, barely clinging onto what life she had left, almost ready to give up altogether. Hitsugaya wondered if he was in the right room—but he mentally kicked him for even considering that. He was just looking for blame because it was he who did this himself. It was his own doing for stripping Hinamori of her life.

He pulled up a chair beside her. Even while sleeping, Momo looked…scared. Her mouth was twisted into a fearful expression, and instantly, Hitsugaya's eyes dropped down to his own hands. What was she scared of? Him? He shuddered at the thought, and a cold hollowness snapped at him inside, filling him with the dark emotions of loneliness and isolation.

Hitsugaya folded his hand over Hinamori's thin, boney fingers, gently enough to hold a baby bird. "Hinamori."

She breathed softly in response.

"I-I," Hitsugaya's voice shuddered. "I really messed you up . . . didn't I?" He squeezed her hand a little harder. To his relief, she continued breathing in that steady, slow rhythm.

"I really hope you forgive me because . . . I'd rather kill myself than go through that again." He blinked several tears out of his eyelashes, dripping down his face, and tinkling over Hinamori's hand. "I'm just so sorry for messing you up like that! It was so _stupid_!I should've known better that Aizen had you like that!"

He sat there for a few minutes, letting himself cry over his best friend. He didn't want to look at Hinamori; he didn't want to face the truth. All those wires hooked up to her, the IV drip, the bandages – he did this to her.

He stood.

"Listen, Hinamori. Don't give up on me yet." He wiped away the moisture on his cheeks with the sleeve of his shihakusho. "I'm your best friend. It's my job to keep you safe." He looked at her directly. "I'm going to keep trying to get stronger. I'm willing to train for centuries until I can master Bankai. I promise you, Hinamori. I'll get stronger, so I can protect you from what happened to you . . . and from myself."

* * *

><p>Hitsugaya enters his office, fresh from a cool shower. He is barefoot and dressed only in his shihakusho with a damp towel draped over his shoulders.<p>

"Ah, Taichou!" Matsumoto bounces off her couch and flounders toward him. "You're back!"

"Yeah." He makes his way to his desk, making note of the dusty floor. "Are you finished with your paperwork? It's recruitment season, and I need you to get all these forms – " He fishes out a pile of blank papers from Matsumoto's "Secret Hiding Spot" from under a creaky floorboard by his feet. Wryly, he continues, "Otherwise, we'll be massively outnumbered this year, whereas the responsible Sixth Division will have thrice the members we have – once again."

Matsumoto's eyes widen. "That's total bullshit! Renji was out drinking with me last night! It's impossible that he got all his work – "

"Oh, so you _were_ out drinking last night."

"Eh? Of course not!"

"Well, too bad. You just confessed, so _you_ can finish all this up." Hitsugaya hefts the towering five-foot tall stack with two hands and drops it onto his Lieutenant's coffee table. "And you're not going anywhere until you're finished."

Matsumoto groans. "Geez, Taichou, why are you so annoying right now?" Almost as if a bright idea popped into her blonde head, she brightens. "Oh, I know! You're working so hard right now and you're so tired, you need a break! Come on, Taichou, let's take the whole division to the hot spring hotel this weekend and – "

"Absolutely not. Like I said before, it's recruitment season."

"Come on, Taichou! It's been months since holiday break! Why don't we go skiing – you like to ski don't you?"

"Yes, but not in the middle of our division's work season – "

"Work season – that's silly! Kyouraku-taichou took off a few weeks early and look how fresh and dandy he is!"

"But Ise-fukutaichou castigated him for it. And the Soutaichou was close to – "

"I know! Let's go to the beach again – "

"Matsumoto. _Stop_."

His lieutenant's voice drops. Hitsugaya finds himself shaking with anger. His fingernails, enveloped in a small fist, have bitten little crescent moons in his palm. He relaxes immediately, shaking out his aching hand. Usually, Matsumoto's innocuous pestering irks him, but it fails to infuriate him. This time is an exception.

"T-Taichou?" Matsumoto inquires carefully. "Is everything alright – "

"Matsumoto, you're dismissed for the day," Hitsugaya interrupts curtly. "Go home, unwind a bit, have a drink. Take the night off. I'll see you tomorrow morning at 7:00 sharp. Good-bye."

He ushers his Lieutenant out the door, the blonde mumbling something about having a change of heart and considering doing the paperwork, but he disregards her. "Go out to that new place in town with Shuuhei and Izuru and whomever else you elope with. You've worked hard; you need a break."

"No – Taichou! What's the matter with you? Was it something I said?" Matsumoto stops and looks him directly in the eye. "I'm sorry if – "

"Matsumoto," he speaks smoothly. "Please."

His Lieutenant bites her lip, turns around, and walks away. Once the sounds of her sandals clip away into nonexistence, Hitsugaya closes his office door and slumps onto the couch. _What the hell just happened? _He shakes his head, nonplussed, and kicks the five-foot pile of forms sitting innocently on the coffee table. Paper rains down like autumn leaves, collecting onto the ground as a fresh white winter snow. Perhaps Matsumoto is right. Perhaps he _does_ need a break. Perhaps his training has been taking a toll on him. But he can't; he can't stop now – he has to get stronger; he has to protect Hinamori.

Hitsugaya halfheartedly glances at the calendar on the edge of the table. He needs to visit Momo. It's been a several days since Hinamori has transferred into her new physical rehabilitation room – almost a week – and she's asked him to visit her since. At any rate, it's about time he visits her again; he's been receiving periodic reports from Unohana: _broody and unresponsive; refuses to eat; tired but refuses to sleep; does not talk_. All negative reports.

"Hinamori, what's going on with you?" he whispers. "What did I do to you?"

The young Captain watches a moth buzz around a light, hypnotic and mesmerizing. Is he that moth? Is he revolving around and around, desperate to break into that light, to find what's truly there? Hitsugaya finds himself drifting off; he's exhausted. The couch he lays on is quite comfortable – no wonder Matsumoto likes it so much. Wearily, he positions himself on the furniture, drags a pillow under his head, and falls into a deep, needed slumber.

* * *

><p>Matsumoto, returning from a long walk in the streets of Seireitei, returns to the Tenth Division office, flustered. She knows she has done something wrong to piss off her Taichou like that, but she's never seen him snap so quickly. <em>It's probably just the nerves<em>. Maybe Hitsugaya Toshiro is reaching the celebrated adolescence; maybe he is finally growing up. Matsumoto smiles as she reaches for the door handle. In a nutshell, those years were pretty damn wild.

The blonde opens to door to find the office covered in papers – recruitment forms to be exact. Horrified, she meanders through the room, hastily picking up a report here and a statement there. If the Taichou sees this, she's screwed. Matsumoto finally reaches her couch, where a cool draft from an open window revealing the crisp night stirs up her hair. That's the culprit; the wind probably kicked over that looming stack of work her Captain ditched on her, thus resulting in this disaster.

She begins to turn around to retrieve some stray papers under the Taichou's desk, when something catches her eye. Matsumoto glances down at her couch. It's her small Captain, fast asleep, using his haori as a blanket.

"Aww," Matsumoto squeals softly. "That's so adorable!"

But then she notices the lines criss-crossing Hitsugaya's face and how his stone facial features seem to _soften_ during sleep. He looks almost friendlier, almost like someone she can accost and carry on a decent conversation with without being scared off by his frozen demeanor. He looks more like a kid.

Matsumoto sighs, draping her spare blanket hidden under the couch designated for when the time comes – once in a while – where the Captain's out and she has the golden opportunity to nap for a bit.

"Some of us mature too fast." She shakes her head, recalling her rough childhood and the memories of that scary man in her mother's bedroom. Of his large, rough hands covering her mouth, smothering her screams, as his comrades circled her wailing mother, waiting lecherously with the heat of their desires condensing into the air. And of how they carried her limp body off, leaving Matsumoto alone in that shack, shivering in the darkness. And of how she left her broken home, took to the road, and collapsed, dying from starvation – until _he_ found her. "Even though it's inalienable, not all of us have the luxury of the innocence of youth granted to us."

The blonde smiles bitterly and decides not to wake up her Captain. She turns off the light, where a moth circulates, frenzied. "But even as mature adults, we all need a break sometime."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: How'd you all like it? Feel free to leave some feedback in the review box!**


	4. Liquid Diet

A/N: Hey everyone, a new update is out, and it sure came out early. I'm going to try to update once or twice a week (let's hope for twice!), so keep checking in for some updates. Read, enjoy, and please leave some feedback in the reviews. This chapter was quite fun to write.

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><p>Chapter Four – Liquid Diet<p>

Simply put, this Hinamori girl is a total drag. I think the best thing to compare her to would be a slug. Everything she does is freaking slow – the way she eats, the way she talks, hell, even the way she blinks. It takes at least a good five seconds for her top eyelid to meet with her bottom lid, then another six to seven seconds to open her eyes again, whereas with me, I'd finish that blink in less than a second.

And talking with her – or rather, attempting to carry on the semblance of an intelligent conversation, mind you – is a nightmare. Our first conversation went almost like a game of Twenty Questions.

So I began by introducing myself. "So your name's Hinamori eh? Mine's Hiyori, Sarugaki Hiyori. Don't you forget it!"

She had lugged herself into her bed, the one on the far left, so a single bed, the one that was once occupied by that bitch, Soi Fon, separates us. Honestly, I think I really would've been offended and lashed out at her – but Unohana would've heard the commotion and resultingly would've marched in with that scary quit-screwing-around look of hers. And also, this Hinamori doesn't look like the type of person you want sleeping too close to you – she looks kind of the dreary, emo kid down the street who looks like she wants to jump off a cliff.

Anyway, Hinamori only stared at her hands, giving no response.

Sighing, I racked my brain for some topic to discuss upon. "So . . . why're _you_ in this hellhole?"

Again, no response.

I thought that maybe I should badger her a bit. Maybe that would've made her sing like a bird. "Oh, come on, don't be shy. We're both stuck her for about a month, so we might as well get know each other. Speak up, girl."

Closing her eyes, Hinamori responded in lackluster monotone, "I am recovering from a chest wound."

"Damn, right in the tits, eh?"

"No."

Okay, I'll admit that was a bit too obtrusive. I waited for the reasonable response: for Hinamori, in turn, to ask _me_ why _I_ was in this hellhole. I waited in vain.

Sighing, I proceeded to answer my anticipated question myself. "Well, _I'm_ here 'cuz I was sliced clean in half. Right here in the tummy!" I gesticulated at my bandaged abdomen with pride. "_Bifurcated_ if ya wanna get fancy."

Hinamori turned on her side and pulled her covers over her head. Right then, I absolutely wanted to maul this chick. Let's see how she felt when _she_ got bifurcated, yeah? Frankly, I was seriously considering snatching my Zanpakuto right from under my bed and cleaving the girl into two pretty pieces. That hour, I exercised the greatest self-control and discipline ever imagined: I exhaled slowly, I counted to a hundred, and I ignored her.

I took a deep breath. _Chillax_. It was time to start again.

"Wanna hear a funny story?"

No response, as expected.

Regardless, I continued, "So one day, I was walkin' down the street, coming home from buying a few groceries – you know, vegetables, poultry, that sorta shit – and I was waiting at the bus stop with this random kid. You see here, this kid was just that generic eleven-year old boy: sniggery, obnoxious, and perverted. He was pointin' at this poor lady – it sure wasn't her day to dress like a skank – as I was saying, he was pouring over her legs and ass and rack, laughing and guffawing like a mental hyena.

"And I said, 'What's the matter with ya, boy? Haven't you ever seen a whore before?' And this kid, he was like, 'Yeah, once.' Then, I was like, 'Oh, really? Is that so!' I was about to ditch that place 'cause that kid was creepin' me out, 'til he said all of a sudden, 'Before I saw that chick, I saw you!' And you know what he did next? It was goddamned outrageous.

"He flipped me off. Waved that middle finger in the air like it was some sort of flag or something. Waved it to the passin' cars, buses, taxis, to everone. Now that seriously pissed me off. I was ready to go apeshit on him – you know, whip out my Shikai and do him good. But _instead_, you know what I said?

"'_When and where, bitch?_'"

I waited for any comment, any response, any reaction. Nothing. Hinamori had drifted into a light doze, snoring silently. I spent a good two minutes relaying the events of such an intriguing day, only to have this moper fall asleep on me. I gritted my teeth so hard that my canine tooth almost chipped.

When it came dinnertime, the nurse walking in with a tray of that foul liquid diet stuff, Hinamori refused to eat. Instead, she slept through the agony of eating the hot, steaming mush of nutrients and vitamins. The nurse looked at me for help; I only shrugged and forced down another spoonful of the vile shit.

In the end, the nurse placed the bowl next to Hinamori's bed stand, entrusting me to instruct her to eat it. I shrugged, agreeing. But once that nurse closed the door behind her, Hinamori immediately woke up and when she thought I wasn't looking, tip-toed out of her bed in her barf green patient gown, poured the liquid diet down the drain.

"They're gonna find out sooner or later," I'd said bluntly not looking from my beautiful view out the window as the sneaky girl surreptitiously slipped back into bed. "And you'll have to face the consequences:_ super _liquid diet. Ain't fun, girl."

The next morning – this morning, in fact – at around seven or eight o'clock, the hospital issued books for the Fourth Division Weekly Recuperating Book Club Organization, the group specially formed for bored-to-the-bone patients like me where the nurses lend out copies of an equally boring-to-the-bone book which is supposed to satiate our boredom – by a hair. Well, at least reading these slow, eventless books helps pass the time a little. This month's selection is the one and only human sensation, _Wuthering Heights_.

Both Hinamori and I took a copy of the butt-boring title. To my surprise, the girl was a furious reader, finishing the goddamned book from cover to cover in less than an hour or two. In contrast, I spent about ten to eleven hours pouring over the puzzling language, occasionally spouting aloud questions about word definitions and phraseology.

"Hold up, Hindley is Kathy's kid, right?"

"No, Mr. Earnshaw's," came Hinamori's drab reply. She would be staring lifelessly at the wall.

"_Sexton_. What the hell's that?"

"A person who tends after a church." Hinamori turned over in her bed without another word.

I read through both breakfast and lunch, sipping my liquid diet porridge shit in one hand, holding up the book in another. I never imagined myself reading something like _Wuthering Heights_, much less enjoying it. Sure, it was confusing, but it was like a soap opera. It was fun to laugh at the characters' screw-ups. Meanwhile, Hinamori skipped both meals, proceeding to sleep – once again.

Finally, a quarter before dinnertime, I slammed the book closed, my eyes dizzy from reading. "Done. I'm finally finished with this goddamned book." I chucked _Wuthering Heights_ at the wall, exhausted. "Finally, I can get on with life now."

Hinamori regarded me silently and only nodded before snuggling into her covers for a dinnertime nap.

"Wait, wait, wait! Don't sleep yet, girl!" I desperately tossed a scrap of paper at her, hoping to grab her attention. "Do _you_ think Heathcliff should've ran off with Isabelle?"

Hinamori only shrugged and closed her eyes.

At that point, I'd reached my limit. This girl is ridiculous – hell, my patience lasted longer with that frigging Soi Fon (and that's saying something!). You see, she pissed me off the sense where it was spontaneous; our eyes met and bang! We felt the incessant urges to rip one another's head off. And then, we've got this: the unresponsive, emo brat who doesn't do anything, who doesn't do anything to provoke you or anything to react to you, who pisses you off in the sense that this girl's a real headache. I yanked myself out of my bed, swung myself over the unoccupied middle bed, and stomped over to the little bitch.

"Listen, girl, I'm fucking sick of your bullshit!"

Hinamori only narrowed her eyes and turned to face the other side – which brings us to the present.

My hand squeezes into a fist; I punch the mattress, only centimeters away from her priggish little head. To my surprise, she jerks in alarm. "Listen to me! Get your goddamned face to where I can see it! Ain't your ma taught you any respect?"

Hinamori tries pulling the covers over her head, but I snatch the sheets out of her grasp, tearing them off her bed and hurling them onto the ground.

"Listen, bitch! I'm sick and tired of your moping around here! Sure, this place is as depressing as hell! Sure, you wanna get outta here as much as I do! But that doesn't give you the excuse to be a depressed mope who does absolutely nothing! That's bad for you; it's fucking unhealthy! What you need to do is . . ." My voice trails off. My eyes are locked on her emaciated body, her limbs nothing but a layer of skin over bone. Hinamori looks like a skeleton.

She sits on the bed, huddled into a ball of needle-like limbs, shivering from the absence of covers. Why haven't I noticed this before? Her face is gaunt, and you can see hollows in her cheeks from malnutrition. Her fingernails are a sick black and gray color, and her legs – they are horrible. I can wrap index finger and my thumb around her ankle, and they will no doubt come into contact, if not, overlap one another. Her legs are so spindly; I probably can snap them into pieces like a cracker without breaking a sweat.

"Girl . . ." I breathe. My eyes are jittering back and forth, not wanting to believe this horrendous sight. "When, girl, was the last time you ate? When the hell was the last time you put a fork to mouth and ate a decent meal?"

Quickly, I scoop Hinamori's covers up from the ground and throw them over her freezing body. I rush over to the sink and pour her a glass of hot water, making sure to keep its temperature as warm as possible.

Hurrying back over to her bedside, I shake my head, murmuring to myself, "Where is that Unohana? When was the last time they actually did a check-up on you?" I shove the water into Hinamori's tiny hands. "Have you drunk any water lately? At all?"

She shakes her head, slowly sipping the drink. She winces and pushes back the glass.

"No," I state. "You _are_ drinking the rest of that – no but's." Pinning a strand of hair behind my ear with a clip, I hastily redo my frazzled pigtails. "I'm telling Unohana straightaway. This is just . . . not right."'

But Hinamori's eyes widen. "No!" she croaks, sputtering over her water. "Please! Don't! _He_ will get mad at me!"

I squint. "_He_? Who the hell is _he_?"

Heat rising up to her cheeks, Hinamori casts a forlorn gaze at her hands. "Um . . . no one . . ."

"Uh-huh," I say, placing my hands on my waist. "I don't give a flyin' fuck what you say, 'cause I'm gonna call in Unohana right now. Understand, girl?"

"I told you my name."

"Huh?"

"I said, I told you my name. Why do you insist on calling me _girl_ all the time?" Hinamori's voice is bitter. "Do I seem that immature to you? I _am _a Lieutenant, so to speak."

Smugly, I cross my arms and respond, "Well, coming from _my _standpoint, you _are_ pretty immature, ya know that? Skippin' on meals, not drinkin' water – is that what a mature person would do? And by braggin' and boastin' about being Lieutenant – that further proves to show how immature you are. Are you seriously disillusioned by the idea that all Lieutenants are _mature_? Well this may be news to you, but _I_ was Lieutenant at one point – and _I_ wasn't the most mature person in whole wide world! So that proves that childish little pricks like you can sit in a high position. And if you want me to call you _Hinamori_, you gotta earn that respect from me. Otherwise, I ain't callin' any people by the name they, themselves, don't respect."

"That's rather amusing. You assume I do not respect my own name? Don't make me laugh," Hinamori mocks. "Names are just a title. They're nothing important. It's the actions that speak louder than the – "

"Bullshit. You're name is probably one of the most important things you've got." I cut in, bristling. "Names give you yourself – your individuality, your personality – and frankly, you, _Hinamori_, have no respect for yourself at all."

Hinamori is silent. Her eyes ogle listlessly at her legs. She touches her face with a hand, feeling her haggard features. Finally, she looks up at me with her big, brown eyes and catching me off guard, questions, "Hiyori-san. That's your name right?"

"What? Well, yeah." I blink.

"If you call Unohana-taichou . . . please tell her not to tell Shiro-chan."

I have no idea who the hell this "Shiro-chan" is. Inclining my head slightly, I sigh, "The only thing I'm gonna tell her is that you've been skipping on meals. The person you should be asking that should be Unohana."

Hinamori stares dismally.

* * *

><p>Unohana flies in pulling a rumbling cart of medical equipment behind her. She measures a lot of stuff; she measures Hinamori's height with a ruler, her blood pressure with that wretched sphygmomanometer thing, her heart with a stethoscope, and last but definitely not least, her weight.<p>

The Captain drags the poor girl to a scale, instructing her with false warmth to take off her slippers. "Stand there, please, and do not move a muscle."

Hinamori's weight comes out to forty-five pounds.

Leaving the room with the folds of her white haori flying angrily out behind her, Unohana shakes her head in disapproval. She whispers, just barely enough for me to hear, "Forty-five . . . ridiculous."

The Fourth Division Captain leaves us in the hands of her "diligent" Seventh Seat, a flaky, lanky kid whose stuttering makes me want to stick his fucking head into an oven – or rather, a toaster over, which seems more suitable more his brain capacity.

"H-hello, m-my name is Yamada H-Hanataro, and I will be t-tending to your supervised mealtimes from now and on." He bows clumsily, almost knocking over a bowl on his food cart, which is heaped with liquid diet for me and _super_ liquid diet for Hinamori.

"Hey, Hanataro, can I ask you something?" I inquire.

"Yes, what is it?" he replies skeptically.

"Go fuck yourself. Oh, and while you're at it, fix up that gay-ass name of yours." I slide my Zanpakuto out from under my bed and launch it at the dope, nailing him right in the forehead with the sheath. Hanataro, dazed, swaggers on his feet, swaying from side to side like a drunk, before collapsing into a pathetic heap on the floor.

"I don't believe that's a qu-question . . ." he moans before dropping unconscious.

"'Supervised mealtimes,' my ass," I snort. I wrench the kid by the neck and pitch him outside, slamming the door in his useless face. I return to the room, brushing my hands off, glad to have the job done quickly. "Alright, _I'm_ gonna be the mealtime supervisor here. Not that dumbass."

Hinamori blinks, baffled. "Unohana will have your hide."

I wave off her thought dismissively and retrieve my Zanpakuto from the floor and slip it back under my bed. "I'll just tell her that he had a heart attack or something."

I grab two bowls off the food cart and fill one up with the standard porridge and another with the special weight-gain porridge. After handing Hinamori her special bowl, I make my way back to my bed. Once settled, I sigh and groan, "Dig in."

My willpower manages to help me down half of a bowl in one chug. _Half-way there_, I urge myself, gasping for breath. That's, by far, the fastest I've drunk this stuff. Hinamori, on the other hand, pokes at her liquid diet with her spoon, suspicious.

"What is in here?" She winces and sets the bowl on her bed stand.

"Oh no, you're not!" I guzzle down the rest, gagging, and hightail over to her bedside, snatching up the abandoned bowl. "You're in a pretty damn serious condition and this is what you need to get better!" I shove the super liquid diet into Hinamori's hands. "Drink up."

Reluctantly, Hinamori spoons a spoonful of porridge into her mouth, and upon impact, she spews it back out, coughing and choking in a disgusted frenzy. She heaves, "T-that's . . . revolting."

"No duh. What'd you think _I_ was doing for the last two weeks or so?"

Hinamori manages another sip, wipes her mouth with a napkin. And out of the blue, she grins. "I have no idea, Hiyori-san. I honestly have no idea."

Just by that mere smile, I think Hinamori's become a completely different person. The single upturn of the corners of her mouth brightens her drawn face – and actually makes her seem more . . . approachable.

I return the grin and reply candidly, "You'd never know, Hinamori."

She frowns, feigning being taken aback. "I believe I would."

"Oh yeah?" I challenge. "Shoot."

Hinamori muses for a moment. I watch her eyes light up when she decides. "Rangiku-san's pasta. You'll never want to eat that – mushrooms, gummy worms, candy – it gave Shiro-chan a stomachache and he had to come here only to get reprimanded by Unohana-taichou." She smiles, again. "I remember him saying, 'Why haven't I fired Matsumoto yet?'"

I raise an eyebrow. "So it's that 'Shiro-chan' guy again. A friend of yours?"

"Oh yes!" she asserts. "Best good friend back from our days in Rukongai . . . only . . ." Hinamori shakes her head. "Oh, never mind."

"If you say so." I set my bowl on my bed stand, and with a napkin, mop off the cream-colored mess over my mouth.

Hinamori and I slowly edge into an awkward conversation.

"Hiyori-san, I haven't seen the likes of you around here. What Division are you from?"

"I ain't from around here at all, don't belong to no Division – ever heard of that exile about a century ago?"

"You mean the Crossbreed Exile? The Shinigami-Hollow hybrids?"

"That's us."

"That's . . . very . . . amazing . . ."

And then we continue to converse – more comfortably. We talk about some snippets of my history, the weather, our favorite foods, and a bunch of other miscellaneous things. And when we run out of things to talk about, we discuss the smack-dab most unconventional topic of all: _Wuthering Heights_.

"Everyone thinks I'm strange for thinking this, but I kind of wanted Heathcliff to go off with Isabelle," Hinamori says.

"And that's where everyone is right."

Hinamori provides to be a decent companion with her chirpy attitude – which really scares the shit out of me. I don't understand how a few hours ago, she was a depressed, despondent mope, a pessimist, and now . . . she's a crazy optimist, Pollyannaish or Panglossian as they say. I remember when we were talking about how there's due to be wind sometime next week – not just any wind but an insane tornado-level winds.

"So what?" Hinamori said straightforwardly. "At least it spices up the weather reports!"

This girl makes me nervous. I don't know if it's just a turn in nature, bipolar disorder, or what, but such a sudden change like this is really spooky. It seems like I need to keep an eye out for this Hinamori Momo chick. Otherwise, who knows what'll happen to her.

* * *

><p>AN: So tell me guys. What are your takes on the HinamorixHitsugaya pairing? True lovers? Or just really close friends? As for me, I'm one for the latter. Please leave your ideas in the reviews because you all might influence the emotions of our favorite midget Captain in future chapters . . .


	5. Unsettlement

A/N: Hey everybody. Sorry for the slow update (I was preoccupied with other stuff). Anyway, thanks for all the feedback regarding how I should depict Hitsugaya and Hinamori's relationship in this fic. I love it when readers provide opinions, and it's really insightful for me, as a writer. Hope you enjoy this chapter, and expect an update in a few days!

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><p>Chapter Five – Unsettlement<p>

"And thus, we should grant the Hollow-infected Shinigami, ordered to be killed on sight more than 110 years ago, a pardon, dismissing the charges they have been accused of, for the cause of the incident was all Aizen Sousuke's doing. In addition, Urahara Kisuke, Tsukabishi Tessai, and Shihouin Yoruichi should be granted impunity as well, for they have been falsely accused for high-level felonies." Ukitake finishes brusquely.

Hitsugaya closes his eyes in consideration. This is an important decision – it's an official amnesty; the first in the last two centuries. That last took place years before he became a Soul Reaper, concerning the case of a falsely accused Shinigami who allegedly stole a pound of beef from the local butcher. He was incarcerated for about half an hour before the chagrined merchant pounded on the doors of Seireitei, hollering how the true culprit was, in reality, a mere red fox who had stuck into his store overnight through a hole under his basement, weaved in and out of the storage supplies, and serendipitously uncovered the stock of meat in the carelessly locked backroom. That fox was captured, and that was all Hitsugaya's Soul Society history textbook read.

He smiles faintly at the memories of fabricating possible fates for that fox with his classmates.

"Tracked down and had its limbs lacerated right off for stew!"

"Forced to eat its own leg!"

"Hunted down and had its throat slit open with a fruit knife!"

Hitsugaya redirects his attention to Ukitake who struggles with his perpetual cough. It has gotten worse; the old Captain sometimes directs his newly appointed Lieutenant, Kuchiki Rukia, to accompany at the Captains' meetings, evidently causing her much stress.

"I don't think I can handle this," Kuchiki had replied, flustered, when he spoke with her the other day. "This is all too overwhelming sometimes – the sudden promotion, the sit-in meetings – it's so . . . strange to have to stand behind Ukitake-taichou as the only Lieutenant at a Captain's meeting."

Her stress seemed to take a toll on her health. Hitsugaya noticed dark circles under her eyes that did not exist there before and an unusual frizz to her normally straight hair. And on top of that, her new position created a new jitteriness inside the typically unruffled surface of Kuchiki Rukia. She would jump at the drip of a leaky ceiling or at the squeak of a sandal and flush in embarrassment and shy away afterwards. All in all, she looked just as he, himself, appeared several decades before taking the seat of Captain, as a Lieutenant: anxious, fresh, and innocent.

The Soutaichou considers silently, rubbing the top of his staff slowly. At last, he clacks his disguised Zanpakuto on the floor sharply. "I concur," the Captain Commander states conclusively, "I approve that this proposal should be active for discussion. Captains of the Thirteen Court Guard Squads, form an opinion four weeks from today and prepare for debate. That allots you a month to form a foundation for your decisions. You are all dismissed and have a good rest of the afternoon."

* * *

><p>After the meeting, Hitsugaya broods over the situation. The Captains seem to already have their decisions made, however, he is still undecided.<p>

"It's probably because you're just a fledging," Kyouraku remarks candidly. "Most of us knew these people in the past – heck, Lisa-chan was my Lieutenant – so it's an easy choice for us."

Kurotsuchi leans into their conversation and adds in, "Why, yes. Many of us did have relations with these Visoreds. I, for one, had an aversion towards a certain Sarugaki-san. Wretched girl, you know. Feisty, rude, you'd never want to meet such a scrap. However, if she _were_ to return, she'd have to revert back the Twelfth, where _I_ would be her superior!" The scientist brightens. "We would have much fun using her as a test subject. Alas, an innovated study: hybrid growth! This is excellent, just excellent!" Kurotsuchi shuffles away, muttering under his breath hysterically.

Kyouraku blinks, perturbed, and shrugs, pushing aside a thought. "Well, see what I mean?"

"Are you kidding me?" Hitsugaya scorns. "That lunatic plans on using these Visoreds for scientific experimentation. That's not a valid reason of why we should a repeal the act."

The Eight Division Captain taps his chin. "Either way, Kurotsuchi wouldn't be able to use that little Hiyori-chan because she was a Lieutenant. We're only considering the Captain-level Visoreds to come back and fill in all of these vacant seats . . . and speaking of Hiyori-chan, I haven't seen that girl in a while! You ever met her, Hitsugaya-taichou?"

"Sorry, I don't think so . . ."

"Are you sure? I'm pretty sure you have. You know, same height as you, blondie, pig-tails, a bit of a snappy attitude? Weren't you two fighting along with Lisa-chan at one point a month or two ago against that Vasto Lorde?"

The girl who called him a midget. That's the one. "Hiyori? That's her name?" Hitsugaya gasps. "That insufferable – "

"Ah yes, Hiyori-chan." Kyouraku continues to reminisce. "She got along pretty well with my Lisa-chan – hah, and that's saying something – anyway, she was a cute little girl. You favor her, Hitsugaya-taichou? She's about the only gal who's short enough to suit you, not counting Yachiru-chan – "

"Kyouraku, please – "

"Oh no, no, no! You should talk to her. You know, take her out on a drink, late at night. It'll both of your firsts, and it'll be so much fun, trust me. Just don't get on Hiyori-chan's nerves, will you? Just a bit of advice from the old man." Kyouraku laughs heartily.

Hitsugaya's eye twitches. "That girl called me a handful of inappropriate names _whilst fighting_! I am pretty sure I would not enjoy being even a continent from her."

He winces at the thought of _baldy_, _midget_, and worst of all, _pervert_. How dare that insufferable scrap of a girl downgrade him with such presumption! He had not known her for a mere minute before this Hiyori leaped into a caustic escapade against him. So impulsive this girl was, it almost reminded Hitsugaya of Kurosaki Ichigo, which is a damned impressive feat!

He glares as Kyouraku ponders more a moment more, probably spinning more perverse scenarios in his twisted mind, until a savior by the name of Ise Nanao storms down the hallway, screaming, "Taichou!"

The Eighth Division Captain turns lethargically towards his Lieutenant. "Ah, Nanao-chan! I was just speaking with Hitsugaya-taichou about Hiyori-chan. Remember that adorable little girl? Hey, weren't you just a small speckling yourself at that time – "

Nanao ignores her Captain, adjusts her eyeglasses, and dumps a pile of paperwork into his hands. "You have these recruitment forms to fill out. Due Monday."

"Next Monday?"

"_This_ Monday. It has been on our bulletin board – bold letters, black, underlined – and yet you still fail to notice it. I have done my share." The Lieutenant whisks around and marches off back the Eighth's barracks without another word."

Bemused, Hitsugaya envisions himself in the same situation, only reversed with him handing Matsumoto her procrastinated work instead. Thank goodness they didn't place Matsumoto Rangiku under Kyouraku Shunsui. The result would be the Eighth Division being shut down on the spot.

Kyouraku sighs. "Well, it seems like I cannot enjoy my afternoon drink today. I guess I'd better leave you to yourself, Hitsugaya-taichou. Oh, and please reconsider that sweet Hiyori-chan – "

"Just go away please."

* * *

><p>Planning on returning to his cavern to train some more, Hitsugaya exits the First Division barracks. It is a nice, warm day today; suitable as a handicap for his Bankai. He tries to train on dry summer days where he is at an apparent disadvantage rather than on humid, wet days or crisp, cool days where the odds are massively in his favor.<p>

He stops walking and looks up at the sky. It's blue, brighter than a robin's egg, with just a few cotton ball clouds drifting here and there, almost like the sky of the Winter War. It was too much of a beautiful day to fight a war. There was a gentle breeze, and it was generally cool – not cold and not warm, but a refreshing, comfortable coolness. That was not a day for battle; it was a day to relax and to unwind. Run a few miles through Seireitei, read a book, in Matsumoto's case, go out for a drink. In simpler words, it was a day to do anything but battle.

"Enjoying the beautiful weather, Hitsugaya-taichou?" He turns to find Unohana walking towards him with a warm smile on her face.

Hitsugaya glances back at the sky. "Yeah. We never really get the opportunity to do this anymore."

The Fourth Division Captain laughs. "Of course not, of course not. Busy reconstruction – you would never imagine all the commotion at the hospital." She shakes her head and raises her gaze towards the clouds. "It seems to be a good day for you, is it not?"

"Excellent, Unohana-taichou. Couldn't ask for better."

"Of course you can."

Hitsugaya turns to her. "Excuse me?"

"I said of course you can ask for a better day – in fact, I'm here to make it even more pleasurable for you today, for I have our periodic medical report on Hinamori-kun, and it's very much on the positive side."

Hitsugaya perks up. "Really?"

"Yes. I am here to inform you that Hinamori Momo is recuperating well based on the results of her daily tests – although we had some trouble in the beginning." Unohana frowns.

"Trouble?"

"Yes, Hinamori was not eating at all for the first two days. That is also the fault of our staff for not monitoring her carefully enough, but nonetheless, she has improved with some guidance." Unohana beams. "You ought to visit her, Hitsugaya-taichou. She's in excellent hands right now."

A slow warmth spreads throughout him; it's mysterious – but it's _good_. He smiles, his heart beating with excitement. "Thank you, Unohana-taichou. Thank you very much."

The Fourth Division Captain strolls away, waving cheerfully, leaving him with . . . happiness? Joy? Optimism? It has been an eternity since he has felt these emotions; he almost forgot how to describe them. All of these positive feelings are almost alien to him. Whether that is a good thing or a bad thing, he does not know. What he _does _know, on the other hand, is that this happiness, this joy, this optimism feels bright and brilliant. That it feels excellent.

* * *

><p>Before he goes to the Fourth Division barracks, Hitsugaya stops by the Fifth Division. He needs to check in on its members, to make sure everything is in order. The Soutaichou assigned him this responsibility due to his closeness with the Fifth's Lieutenant.<p>

"I trust you will keep everything the way Hinamori-fukutaichou keeps it while she is out of action," the Captain Commander issued. "Please continue doing so until Hinamori Momo is fit to resume the position."

Hitsugaya carefully walks through the polished wooden floors, headed towards the Captain's office. The Fifth Division members are generally polite and well-mannered, much like how Aizen Sousuke was. It's funny how a Captain has such significant influence on his men. Take Zaraki for instance. His warring nature infected his entire division and now they're all blundering, bellicose idiots, always looking for some kind of fight. Hitsugaya snorts. Well, if that's the case, what were his own men? Seemingly drunkards and idiots as well – in virtue to Matsumoto, one of the rare cases where the Lieutenant has the upper hand.

He opens the door to the office to find a strange blonde man with a strange jaw-length haircut browsing through the bookshelves, humming an equally strange tune to himself. He is dressed in human clothing, an ensemble of an orange shirt and a striped tie and black slacks. Hitsugaya's hand immediately reacts to grasp the hilt of his Zanpakuto. "Hey, these are the private chambers of the Captain and Lieutenant of the Fifth Division. What are you doing here?"

The man swivels around casually on his heels, wearing an odd grin that made Hitsugaya grip his sword hilt even firmer. "Oh, hey there. How's it goin'?"

Gritting his teeth, Hitsugaya speaks slowly. "Do I have to repeat myself? These are the private chambers of the Cap – "

The intruder narrows his brown eyes skeptically. "Blah, blah, blah. Now don't stress yourself. But what gets me confused is that _you – _" He gestures towards Hitsugaya's haori. " – ain't the Fifth Division Cap'n nor the Fifth Division Lieutenant, so why are _you_ here? Doesn't that make you a hypocrite, kiddo?"

_Kiddo_. Hitsugaya unsheathes Hyourinmaru. "Excuse me, I am not a child – "

"Uh, _yeah,_ you are. Pullin' your sword on a poor pedestrian like that, that could've fooled me," the stranger laughs merrily. "Put that away 'fore someone gets hurt here." And he adds, his tone dangerously low, "_And it ain't gonna be me_."

Hitsugaya keeps his sword pointed at the blonde man, ready to react if he attacks. "State your name and business."

"Wow, way to change the subject," the man mumbles bitterly. "Whatever then. Call me Shinji, Hirako Shinji."

Hirako Shinji . . . Hitsugaya recognizes him as the Visored leader. He grows wary; these Visoreds were former Captain-level and Lieutenant-level fighters. And based their united battle against Aizen, he respects the man's considerable talents of his "inverted world" ability which almost disconcerted Aizen himself.

Hirako continues smooth, "And as for my purpose . . . hmm . . . I guess I'm just visitin' some old dust. You know when you needa get back a feel for this here place? That's all I'm doin'. Ah, looks like Aizen got himself some mighty fine books here." He heartily pats the bookshelf and extracts a title. "Ah, what's this? _100 Ways to_ – okay, I'm gonna guess the rest of the title!" He covers his eyes, "Here goes: _100 Ways to Torture and Kill Innocent Children_. Am I right?" The man uncovers his eyes and glances at the book. "Damn, it's actually _100 Ways to Transform Your Office_. That's really . . . what's the word? . . . _uncharacteristic_ of old Aizen. An interior design book – geez – "

"You are trespassing on Fifth Division ground. You are not a member of the Fifth Division, let alone a Shinigami – "

"The hell are you talkin' about? _Trespassin'_? Pretty harsh there, kiddo."

Irked, Hitsugaya takes two steps towards the intruder. "You are violating your visitor's rights. I'm going to have to turn you in."

"Hold up there. Before you 'turn me in' – " The Visored mockingly makes a pair of finger quotes. " – I wanna rephrase what you said. _Trespassin'_? Nah, I'd say somethin' along the lines of . . . recollectin'. See ya later, kiddo."

Before Hitsugaya can stop him, Hirako Shinji flash-steps away, disappearing without a trace. Still defensive, Hitsugaya slowly sheathes Hyourinmaru and takes a last look around the room before edging out. He knows he should report this instance but something – Hirako's words or his demeanor – tells him he shouldn't. And for some reason, he feels this man's appearance has something to do with Hinamori. That's ridiculous. He shakes the thought out of his head. He will never permit her to associate with this kind of man, for her sake and her safety.

Perturbed, Hitsugaya exits the Fifth Division, not bothering to exchange a glance with its confused members.

* * *

><p>AN: Well guys, how did you like it? Please leave some feedback in the reviews! Much appreciated. Frankly, I'm having so much fun writing this - heck, I'm even hoping the manga will support this couple (but that's wishful thinking).

So I'm somewhat confused about the relationship between Hiyori and Shinji. Are they friends like many of you contended about the topic of HitsugayaxHinamori? Or are they lovers? Personally, I think they are just close friends, and the Shiyori pairing doesn't really work for me. Yet then again, I'm no psychologist so I wouldn't know these relationships. So tell me, guys: what do you think?


	6. Sparks

A/N: Guess what, everyone? I decided to update - once again this week. Why? Because I feel like it: a simple reason. Enjoy and please leave some feedback!

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><p>Chapter Six – Sparks<p>

It turns out that Hinamori's a really talkative girl. I'm not even kidding – I don't think I can stuff enough socks down her throat to shut her up.

A couple of days ago, after gagging through a bowl of liquid diet together, Unohana walked in with her cartful of equipment for our daily check ups. Hinamori was chattering on about this dude named Kira Izuru, blabbering on about how he was a nice guy and shit – and Unohana almost fainted.

"Hinamori-san!" the Fourth Division Captain gasped.

We turned to regard her.

"Yes?" Hinamori inquired, suspicious. "Is something the matter, Unohana-taichou?"

Unohana smiled and shook her head, laughing. "Only the opposite, Hinamori-san. It seems your back to your old self again."

The doc had dragged me out of the room and into her office for a "quick operation."

"The hell?" I protested, struggling to worm out of Unohana's vice-like grip. "You never told about any friggin' operation! What the f – "

"Relax, Sarugaki-chan. There is no operation; I just need to speak with you." Unohana sat me down at chair across her desk and folded her hands together. "Have you noticed the drastic changes in Hinamori-san's . . . composure?"

"Whaddaya mean?" I arched an eyebrow and cross my arms.

Unohana sighed and poured me a cup of tea but stops midway. "Oh, right. Liquid diet. I apologize." She pours the fragrant drink into a convenient flower pot.

"No need to," I gritted out, frustrated that I missed my golden opportunity to savor something that isn't water or liquid diet. "It's. Perfectly. Fine. With. Me."

Unohana cleared her throat. "Ah, yes. Why you were summoned . . . do you have, by chance, any explanation as to why Hinamori-san has improved?"

"Nope."

The Fourth Division Captain extracted a medical report from a file cabinet behind her and shows me a form. "According to our psychiatrist, Hinamori Momo has been suffering from serious depression ever since Aizen's betrayal."

I raised up my hand. "Hold up for a sec!" Unohana blinked. "Is it right for you, the doc, to show me someone else's medical records? What about the confidential crap –"

"At any rate," Unohana interrupted smoothly, as if I didn't open my mouth. "Hinamori has been showing signs of convalescence; she is communicating, she is eating . . . she is even attempting to carry on an intelligible conversation."

"No way," I derided, rolling my eyes pretty disrespectfully. "'Cause that girl doesn't even _attempt_. She just sings like a hyperactive parrot! 'Kira this!' 'Kira that!' 'Oh my goodness! I have a broken nail! Have you ever had a broken nail before, Hiyori-san?' 'Have you read this part in _Wuthering Heights_?' 'Ah, there's a beautiful cloud outside! It looks like a trombone! One time, Shiro-chan tried playing trombone, but he was too short! I don't think _you_ could ever play trombone either, Hiyori-san' –"

"Which is exactly my point," Unohana seamlessly cut in again. I've got to learn how to do that. "Hinamori's sudden improvement is far too convenient for us. I shouldn't be possible for such a severe depression patient to clear up so quickly."

We sat there for a moment not exchanging another word, Unohana scanning over Hinamori's records and me scrutinizing my fingernail. Finally, the doc broke the silence, "Do you have anything to do with this, Hiyori-chan? I you goad her with your lectures?"

"Lectures?" I screeched. "I don't damn lecture! All I's did was yell a bit at her and tell her how fucking pathetic she was –"

"_Language_."

"Sorry, how _friggin'_ pathetic she was! I mean seriously! Being anorexic and stuff? That's fuck – _friggin' _gross! I could see all her bones and tissue and organs and stuff! Hell, I could even see her liver, if I looked hard enough! People shouldn't look like that! It's friggin' unhealthy and detrimental!"

Unohana crossed her arms and nodded in agreement. "I stand by corrected. I believe you goaded her by your riveting rants. Thank you for your time, Sarugaki-chan. I will look further into this matter."

"Wait! Whaddaya mean by 'rants'?"

Unohana had already herded me outside and closed the door behind me.

* * *

><p>"Hiyori-san?" Hinamori looks up from her book. This week's selection is <em>Jane Eyre<em>. I mean seriously, why is the hospital staff so obsessed over these soap opera classics? First of all, they've got absolutely no action, and then they talk like grandmas and geezers. They should, instead, roll in a TV and make us discuss those human spy movies from Britain like James Bond and Austin Powers. Now those make good discussions.

"Mmm?" I glance up from my copy of _Jane Eyre_. I narrow my eyes. "Dammit, you made me lose my place, and it was actually an interestin' spot!"

"Can I talk to you about something?" Hinamori's eyes darken. She tugs at a string on her pillow.

"Shoot." I mark my place in my book and chuck it violently at the wall. "Fucking classics. Emily was always better than you, Charlotte, even though she was a bit of a mope."

"Well . . ." Hinamori sighs. "I've got this friend . . . you know, Shiro-chan?"

I roll my eyes. "'Course I know this Shiro-chan. You always ramble about him. 'Shiro-chan this.' 'Shiro-chan that.' Almost as much as this Kira guy – just a tinge bit less, though. I'll give ya that."

She blushes. "I talk about Kira-kun a lot?"

"No duh."

She shrugs off the thought. "Well, Shiro-chan seems to be feeling really down lately. You know . . . because . . . oh, I just don't know . . ."

I watch her grab her Fifth Division Lieutenant's badge off her nightstand and stroke the insignia, the lily of the valley. I respond bluntly, "Of course you know. You just don't feel like talkin' 'bout it." I sigh. "Well that's perfectly fine with me. Besides, there's more interestin' drama in _Jane Eyre –_"

"No, no, no!" Hinamori insists. "I want to talk about it . . . it's just that . . ." Her voice trails off.

"If ya wanna talk about it, then spit it out already," I say. "So you were at this Shiro-chan. He do anything to you?"

Hinamori leans back against her pillows and closes her eyes. "He hurt me."

"Hurt you? Like broke your heart?"

"Oh, not like that at all! We're just friend's you see!" Her face reddens. "I could never imagine Shiro-chan as my . . . lover . . ." She laughs softly. "We were the best friends back in Rukongai. Growing up together with his grandmother, eating watermelon, playing games. Shiro-chan didn't have many friends because . . . he was a cold child. He never liked having people so close to him; he always shrugged them away. But I kept sticking close to him – partly just to tease him. He's like a little brother to me. We do love each other, though not in _that_ sense."

I nod. It's like a lot like my relationship with Shinji. He was always there for me during those dark days; conversely, I was always there to help him when _he_ – I shudder at the thought of _him_ – whipped him or beat him. We've been through a lot, and we're the very image of a love-hate relationship. At one time of the day, we're best friends, and at another time, we're worst enemies. And at the end of that day, we both know that we'll stick up for each other. After all, we both have the same past.

"Is he a Shinigami?" I query.

Hinamori nods vigorously. "Oh yes. Rangiku-san convinced him to join after a certain incident with his grandmother. I was already enrolled in the Academy at the time, and I was thrilled! I've always tried to persuade him to join our ranks – defending the innocent was simply so _right_! It was my owing to the world! And when he finally got in, he . . ." She bursts into laughter. "He graduated in a year. A darn _year_. I was so surprised when he became a seated officer.

"'Shiro-chan,' I said. 'Looks like you almost caught up to me!'

"I was a Lieutenant at the time, and he was a Fourth Seat. And you know how he responded?

"'Dammit, Bed Wetter Momo! Quit callin' me that! You said when I joined the Academy, you'd start calling me by my real name!'

"The way he reacted was so childish, so young and puerile, I cracked up. 'You mean by calling you _Toshiro-kun_?' I replied.

"'No!' he shouted. 'Call me by Hitsugaya! No –kun or –chan or nicknames!'

"Then, he became a Lieutenant, just like me. He insisted I call him _Hitsugaya-fukutaichou_. But no, I insisted on _Hitsugaya-kun_. He was my little brother, I think I'll always, essentially, look down on him. And then when he became Captain . . . I still gave him a hard time about that." Hinamori smiles.

"Wait, this Shiro-chan kid is a Captain?" I ask. "A kid Captain?"

"Don't say that around him . . . he's got this weird inferiority complex with his height." Hinamori shivers.

"I think I've seen this kid around somewhere . . . a midget right?"

"Um, he's kind of the same height as you . . ."

"Well never mind then. I've never seen such a guy," I huff. "The kid Captain _I_ met was at least a foot shorter than me! Hell, he was a fucking midget – and not to mention a pervert! We were fightin' this Vasto Lorde, and this kid Captain sucked, always getting in my way. The annoying brat. How tall is this Shiro-chan?"

"I'd say about 4'4''," Hinamori guesses.

"No kidding? That's how tall _I_ am!" I pat the top of my head. "And I'm not a midget 'cause I'm still growin' fine and dandy! With a healthy diet and good sleep – now that's key – I'll rocket past 4'10'', and I'll never be considered a midget bitch!"

Hinamori nods her head slowly, as if she, for some reason, does not believe me. "That's something Shiro-chan'd say. Especially about the sleeping part."

"But wait." I sit cross-legged on my bed and face my roommate. "Didn't you say this Shiro-chan hurt you?"

Her expression darkens again. "Yes."

"But not emotionally," I reason, "So he physically –"

"He almost killed me. He stabbed in the chest, mistaking me for Ai – for someone else – and . . . he feels really guilty about it. He keeps blaming himself, but he was tricked! He didn't know about . . . that." Hinamori wipes at her eye. "And . . . this person he thought I was . . . this person made him hurt me, made him hurt his friend, and he never forgives himself for that. It's hurting him so much."

My eyes widen. I flashback to that night. Shinji had me toted under his arm like a basketball while fending off Tousen. And then I felt the most horrible feeling in world. Like every good cell in my body was terrorized and infected by this gross sickness that reeked evil and hunger for something: it was blood. I remember retching – I felt so ill, and my conscience was taken over by something; I could only watch what my body was doing, like through a mask or through a screen. I had no control over it whatsoever. This something reared me up, tore myself out of Shinji's arm, and slashed him across the chest. I felt his blood splatter on me like little raindrops, and this thing controlling me wanted to feel more of that blood.

Shinji still has that scar. Whenever we all go to the beach or to the pool, he always wears something over it – a towel, a Hawaiian shirt, whatever – because he knows I will stare at it and remember. It is a blatant reminder of what I did, and what Aizen made me do. He made me hurt my friends. And that is why I hate him.

"I know exactly what you are talkin' about," I say quietly. Hinamori blinks in surprise. "I bet you're wonderin' why. 'Cause I was in the same situation as this Shiro-chan several years ago."

"What?" she exclaims. "How?"

I pick at my bed sheets, uneager to relate the details of that night. "You see . . . _someone_ prodded me hurt my friends too – and I blamed myself for it entirely."

Hinamori looks at the floor.

"But then I realized it wasn't entirely my fault. I found solace in that _and_ in the fact that my friends forgave me." I face Hinamori who stares blankly. "You're friend needs to understand that. Otherwise, he'll never get over this. Ever."

"Yeah . . ." Hinamori's voice is soft. She looks at me. "Hiyori-san, I want you to meet Shiro-chan. I want you to explain to him what you explained to me. I want him to realize what you realized. I want you to help him let go of his feelings about the incident . . . I just want him to be the old Shiro-chan again!" She, already walking on a thin wire, about to break any second, finally bursts into tears. I was anticipating it.

I crawl over the bed dividing us and sit beside her and pat her back. "Hey, quit cryin'. It's not big deal."

"It's a plenty big deal! Please, Hiyori-san!" she begs. "Please talk to him!"

I sit there, continuing on patting her back. At last, I speak, "Alright, I'll try. Just . . . don't expect too much . . . I'm kind of bad at conveying feelings."

"Thank you, Hiyori-san! Thank you!" She embraces me and sobs into my shoulder.

"Yeah, just don't get me all wet –" It's pointless.

Unsure what to do, I just sit there awkwardly in hospital pajamas drenched in tears, still awkwardly patting her shoulder. The time ticks by and after about ten minutes, I realize Hinamori has fallen asleep on me. Now this is awkward beyond reproach. I try to wriggle out of her hold, but she clings fast to me. Sighing, I stay there, sitting and patting and wondering how I'm going to talk to this Shiro-chan stranger who I'm pretty sure I've never met in my entire life. And that is going to be the most awkward thing in the entire universe.

* * *

><p>Hitsugaya slaps a few coins on the counter, and the cashier hands him his bouquets. "One order of fresh daffodils, correct?"<p>

"Yeah." He scoops up the flowers and hurries into the rehabilitation ward. He remembers one time in the past when he ordered Matsumoto to take a week off from work and go here for her incessant drinking habits.

"Why, Taichou?" she had wailed. He had frozen her into a huge ice chunk, leaving her head unfrozen so they could communicate. "You don't have to turn me into a popsicle, you know! I would've come here on my own!"

"_On my own_? Don't make me laugh. You'd just run off to some random bar and do who knows what. Spend a week here and come back as sober as the old man." Hitsugaya had responded.

"The Soutaichou drinks even more than Kyouraku!"

Hitsugaya ignored her, turning his attention to filling out the registration forms at the hospital front desk. Name: Matsumoto Rangiku. Occupation/Rank: Tenth Division Lieutenant. Height: 5'8''. Weight . . . he would have to get back to the hospital on that one. For a hasty estimate, he jotted down, "140 lbs."

"Taichou!" Matsumoto screeched. Hitsugaya remembers she almost woke up the entire first floor. "The hell's that for? I'm not _that_ fat! I'm only a hundred and twenty six! Fix that or else I'm not going!"

"Doesn't matter. You're going unconditionally."

In the end, it was all a waste. The minute she stepped out of the hospital, she ran to the nearest bar and guzzled down four-fifths with plenty of time to spare.

That, surprisingly, was considered to be a "happy memory" to the Captain. One "happy memory" out of thousands. But unfortunately, those don't really come around anymore; they seem like they're dying, fading away, slowly and quietly, into the background like an endangered species. Frankly, he doesn't really remember the last time he's had a decent laugh.

He continues through the hospital. Around him, Fourth Division members and nurses rush about, in and out of rooms and wards like honeybees, providing traversing through the hallways quite difficult. A stretcher here, a cardiac arrest patient there. But Hitsugaya effortlessly dodges the incoming people – it seems that instead of _him_ trying to avoid _them_, _they_ are trying to avoid _him_.

Unohana swoops out from a nearby room, bearing a spectrum of clipboards and medical records. Almost immediately, a throng of nurses, clad in impeccable, white uniforms, approach her, bombarding her with questions and reports.

"The blood pressure of Ichino-san is 160 – "

"Maruchi-san is in critical condition at the moment – "

"We have an unknown toxin – "

Hitsugaya watches, intrigued. He expects the Fourth Division Captain to blow a whistle and calm the torrent down to a gentle trickle and then assess the situations. After all, that is the most logical thing to do: stay relaxed. Or at least that's the thing he's always done throughout his career as a Shinigami; he's kept his cool. It was inherently a part of his demeanor and nature, so doing so came naturally to him, like an instinct. Unohana, however, does not even bat an eyelash.

She rattles off commands for each nurse quickly and concisely. "OK, get Ichino-san to the Fifth Seat. He should be in the orthopedics ward demonstrating to a group of new recruits. As for Maruchi-san, roll him to the emergency ward, and tell Iemura-san to stop whatever he's doing, hand it off to a subordinate, and take a look at him. And for the unknown toxin, take me to it, and along the way, explain to me the chemical compounds found in the bonds."

The nurses and Captain disperse in opposite directions, leaving Hitsugaya awestruck. As Unohana leaves, he catches her eye; he nods curtly. Secretly, he's always admired that woman. She works absolutely seamlessly, and her subordinates execute her every order without further question. If only he can get Matsumoto to do that. Yet then again, Unohana radiates that mysterious fear complex, which is a prime factor for the great respect she has earned from her comrades. He waves the thought off dismissively.

Hitsugaya turns a few corners, swerving past several surgeons, and finally reaches the Physical Rehabilitation room jotted down on his hand. Taking a deep breath, he reaches for the door handle. _Will she be scared?_ That is his omnipresent thought that plagues him. Whenever he sees shadows or leaves blowing in the wind or droplets of whatever, he is reminded of Hinamori's fear. He can associate anything with it from a steaming soup to a flying bird. He is afraid of her expression when he walks in. Will it be of fear? Or anger? Or _hate_?

His hand grips the cool steel of the door handle, but he refuses to turn it. He is sweating now, his eyes darting back and forth between the door and the exit hallway. Maybe he shouldn't come. Maybe it's too early. Sighing, Hitsugaya lets his hand slip off the handle and hang loose by his side. He drops the daffodils by the door; Unohana will understand. She'll give them to Hinamori for him.

"Sorry."

He turns to return down the hallway, to weave back through the bustling ward, and to go back to his office to lie down. But as he steps away, he hears faint voices from behind the Physical Rehabilitation room door.

Hitsugaya presses his ear to the door, straining to decipher the dialogue.

"Fuck," a female voice swears. "How much longer am I on this bullshit diet crap?"

This cussing. This voice sounds strangely familiar, but Hitsugaya cannot put his finger on it. He continues to listen.

"Hey, at least you don't have too far to go." It's Hinamori's voice! Hitsugaya presses his ear harder against the wooden frame. And she laughs. She bursts out laughing. Hinamori's laughter is like grandmother's amanattou. The sugary, soft beans that pack such a dynamic flavor – it's been decades. And the laughter. He hasn't heard it for such a long time, he almost forgot how it sounds like. It's so alien.

The familiar female voice scoffs, "Hah, sucks for you! You're just a young whippersnapper compared to a liquid diet veteran like me!"

"Ah, don't be so mean!" There goes the candied laughter again.

Hitsugaya finds himself grinning. Behind this door is his old best friend, not a sad, lonely girl who has been hurt too many times. He scoops up the daffodils from the ground and opens the door.

As he walks in, the conversation he has been eavesdropping on continues.

"Ahh, I'm done!" the female voice sighs. "How far are you up to?"

Hinamori speaks, gagging, "Half-way!"

"Wait, did the door just open?" the female voice demands.

Hitsugaya emerges into the room and the first thing he sees is Hinamori setting a bowl filled with a vile-smelling green liquid in her lap and wiping her mouth with a napkin. He watches as her chocolate brown eyes travel up to meet his own and her plain expression morph into . . . joy?

"Shiro-chan?" she breathes. "Is that you?"

"Hinamori," Hitsugaya responds, smiling. "It's nice to see you."

His best friend rubs her eyes, as if she is seeing things, and blinks slowly. "Shiro-chan, it really is you!"

"What? You've caught a case of blindness as well?" he teases.

He doesn't believe the warm emotions bubbling inside of him – experiencing the happiness of hearing of Hinamori's improvement does not compare to this at all. His best friend, his caring older sister, who has seemingly disappeared off the face of the planet, has just returned to him. After months of depression, of sadness, of misery, this girl is more cheerful than a burbling brook on a chirpy spring afternoon. This is euphoria. Hitsugaya has only heard of this, the highest level of happiness one can achieve, in stories. And now he's living it.

"Shiro-chan!" Hinamori leaps off the bed and tackles Hitsugaya into a hug. "I haven't seen you since the operation! It's been so long!"

He feels her tears slipping into his hair; he smiles. "Yeah, I missed you too."

_She's gotten skinnier_, he notes. _But she looks pretty healthy_. Hitsugaya frowns slightly. _But damn, she's still taller than me_.

They break out their embrace and Hinamori instantly launches into a bout of chatter, "Come sit down, Shiro-chan! It must be really uncomfortable for you to stand around like that – you probably already to that all day at work. Poor Shiro-chan –"

"Hinamori! It's Hitsugaya-taichou, to you!" He shoves his daffodil bouquet into her hands and narrows his eyes. "Did you forget that?"

Hinamori stands there, perplexed. "I guess I did, Hitsugaya-kun. I guess I did."

Hitsugaya crosses his arms. "Well, see? There you go – "

"But if there's one thing _I_ didn't forget, is that you're the bald and perverted midget _and_ apparently, all this time when Hinamori's been talkin' about a 'Shiro-chan,' I actually knew him. Geez, what a grand reunion we've got here. Nice to see you again, dumbass bastard."

They both blink. It just occurs to Hitsugaya that there is another being in the room. And it's that strikingly familiar voice.

Hinamori turns around. "Hiyori-san! Meet Shiro-chan!"

_Hiyori-san_. As in, the Sarugaki Hiyori Kyouraku and Kurotsuchi were speaking of? As the Sarugaki Hiyori who mocked him to no end during that battle? The impulsive and absolutely repulsive blonde Visored who was bifurcated by Ichimaru Gin?

Hitsugaya stares past Hinamori, into the glinting amber eyes of the inhabitant of the far bed: none other than Sarugaki Hiyori.

"It's _you_," he points at the impudent blonde. "You! From the fight!"

The Visored cocks her head, almost as a challenge, and responds smugly. "And it's _you_. The bald, perverted midget from the fight."

* * *

><p>AN: How did you guys like it? So thanks to the wonderful reviewers who answered my questions about HinamorixHitsugaya and HiyorixShinji, I've got a firm handle on this story now. I'm surprised how many of you are such consistent reviewers - it makes me so happy! Anyway, thanks so much guys for your support and for all the wonderful comments. They really brighten my day (especially to Mel72000's note about the Central 46; that's all cleared up now)!

Now tell me guys, would you like to see some of this story in other perspectives? I've been considering Hinamori, Shinji, Lisa, Urahara, etc. Would you guys like that? Please give me some feedback, I'd really appreciate it!


	7. Greetings

**A/N: Hey everbody, new update's out, and happy Easter Monday to all of you! Luckily, my school gets a day off (whoop-de-doo!), so I'm taking this as an incentive to . . . UPDATE! Enjoy the chapter guys, and please, please, please leave a review.**

**P.S. I'd like to give a special shout-out to my meticulous Beta Reader, tii-chan17, who patiently led me through the steps of the Beta Reader process. I'm quite new at this so . . . yeah, sometimes I get a little stuck. And she graciously left a number of sweet reviews for my last chapter - very much appreciated.**

**P.P.S. I feel motivated to thank the following people for their reviewing of my latest chapter: Prenumbra, war90, dragonballzlover2499, PartyPony2, DietRootBeer, Mel72000, and SaintBrees. Plus I'd like to commend the following for being such dedicated reviewers (y'all commented on every chapter!): war90, dragonballzlover2400, PartyPony2, and Mel72000. Really appreciate it guys; whenever I check my email and see "Review Alert" it really brightens up my day. Keep at it and THANKS! Hey, and by the way, if I left anyone out in my acknowledgements, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, PM me, so I can add you on there. Sorry if I did . . . anyway, onto the story!**

* * *

><p>Chapter Seven – Greetings<p>

Hinamori Momo considers herself a girl of the peace and quiet. Like the sunlight corner of the library or the far-away hill at the park; they make excellent reading locations, in fact. And like the lassitude of a Friday afternoon walk from the Fifth Division office, headed to the address Rangiku scribbled on her hand earlier in the morning. It's not that she dislikes excitement – heck, she lives for having a great time, living life up to its fullest. It's just that keeping everything at equilibrium makes things more . . . _comprehensible_.

Perhaps the primary reason she decided to become a Shinigami – besides serving under a chivalrous, powerful Captain like Aizen-taichou, of course – was to maintain the peace and quiet she loves so much. Keep the Hollows situated and knead out the bumps and ridges. Momo likes to think of herself as that person everyone depends on to makes things more _comprehensible_. It makes herself feel significant and not a waste of space; but most importantly, it makes herself feel proud.

But nonetheless, there are some circumstances where she has no control over the tempest. Sometimes, she is a mere breeze only wishing to emulate the power of the virulent wind and rain. Such as now: her best friend and her good roommate. "If looks can kill," as they say. They would each be dead at least eleven times by now. Toshiro's frigid turquoise clashes ruggedly against Hiyori's turbulent amber.

Momo blinks. Apparently the two _have_ met. Hiyori's misguided her. The kid Captain who she met who stood a foot shorter than her, the "fucking midget and not to mention pervert," _had_ to be Toshiro. There is no possible Captain in the Gotei 13 who is a foot shorter than Hiyori – well, there's Yachiru-chan, but she's a Lieutenant. Momo's eyebrows furrow together, perplexed. But "pervert"? Toshiro is definitely no pervert. She smiles. Because if he is, he would already be dead by the hands of his Matsumoto-fukutaichou.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?" Toshiro demands, jabbing a finger towards Hiyori. "And Hinamori, what are you doing associating with _her_?"

"What are you implying, you midget?" Hiyori growls. She slips out of her bed and advances forward. "We're roommates; we're bound to be 'associating.'"

"For goodness sake, I am not a midget!" Toshiro shoots back. "And _you_ are shorter than I am, so you have no right to call me something like –"

"I am not fucking shorter than you. Hell, if it weren't for that douchebag hair, I'd be standin' _skyscrapers_ over you. Hey, why don't we test that out? I'll grab my Zanpakuto and shave it off and see if you get past 4'4''!"

"I _am_ 4'4''!"

"That's bullshit. And what the hell are you doing here anywa –"

"That was _my_ question until you interrup –"

"Tryin' to lay yer filthy hands all over me again? Is that so? Well, yer gonna have to fight for it, bitch!"

Momo gasps. "Shiro-chan!"

"What?" shouts Toshiro, his eyes wide with disbelief. "I'd never – those are lies, Hinamori, don't listen to that thing and her –"

"Oh, so I'm a 'thing' now?" Hiyori sneers. "Listen, bitch, I'm a dignified lady ya know that?"

Toshiro snorts and rolls his eyes. "That's like saying Matsumoto's a sober wet blanket."

A flash of color flies past Momo, and before she can adjust her eyes, Hiyori has tackled her best friend to the ground. "Oh yeah? Wanna see my tits, pervert?"

Toshiro shoves her off roughly and scrambles to his feet, hastily brushing himself off. "No! Of course not!"

"Is that so? You know what? I think you're itchin' to see 'em, aren'tcha? After all, you're a fucking pervert, shorty! A baldy! A dipshit! A dickhead! And a goddamned _midget_!"

"You're one to talk!"

"Guys! _Cut it out_!" Momo hollers at the top of her lungs. Her two friends freeze, Hiyori in the process of preparing a fresh barrage of insults and Toshiro bracing himself for impact. A ruffled blonde pigtail here; a stressed haori sleeve there . . . and Hinamori Momo laughs. She laughs as if she has never laughed before. She lets out all of her happiness, of having her best friend visiting her, of meeting such a great roommate, and of seeing the two scuffle like schoolchildren.

At last, she calms down and regards each of the short individuals seriously. "All right, let's start by calming down. Hiyori-san, how do you know Shiro-chan –"

"Wait, this dipshit's _Shiro-chan_?" Hiyori points at Toshiro in incredulity. "No fucking way."

"As I was saying," Momo continues. "How did you two meet? How do you know each other?"

Hiyori and Hitsugaya glare at one another; the murderous looks strike once again. "Long story," they both answer at the same time, resulting in even more spiteful looks.

Suddenly, a thought hits Momo right in the head. Why is Toshiro acting so worked up? Not once in her entire lifetime has she seen the white-haired boy loose his calm composure – disregarding his reprimands towards his Lieutenant, because that's a different situation. And especially not to the extent of full-out fighting back. He'd never be so frazzled and overworked.

And then she smiles. It's Hiyori. She ignited him. She sparked him.

"There's obviously a lot of . . . tension," Momo says frankly, "between you two – and I have no idea what caused all of this uproa –"

"This nitwit was the one who picked the goddamned fight in the first pla –"

"And we should all start all over and be friends, shall we? All right, then. Shakes hands, you two, and introduce yourselves all over again."

"No way," Toshiro remarks.

"I'm gonna agree with the midget on this one." Hiyori shakes her head, and the white-haired Captain shoots her a dirty look.

"Do it," orders Momo.

"_No_."

She sighs and reaches under her bed for the ultimate bribe for Sarugaki Hiyori. Her jar of BBQ sauce. "Fine. If you don't do this, guys, I'll drop this glass jar on the floor."

"You stole my sauce!" Hiyori's eyes widen. "That's where it went! And no! You are not dropping that! I haven't had it since, literally, ages! Why, you sneaking little . . ." She grits her teeth in frustration. "You know, Hinamori, you're a nice gal, but you've got a sneaky side to you. Kid." The blonde gestures towards Toshiro. "Do it now, otherwise, I'll murder you. Right here, right now."

"Absolutely not." Momo's best friend shakes his head resolutely. "I refuse."

"Okay, I'll tell Hiyori-san about what happened to you last holiday season –"

"Fine! I'll do it!"

Her two friends approach each other, bristling like a pair of alley cats, and grudgingly shake hands.

Hiyori rolls her eyes and grumbles sarcastically, "Hey, how's it goin'? The name's Sarugaki Hiyori. Nice. To. Meet. You. What ever in the world is your name?" She chokes.

Toshiro, showing the same lack of enthusiasm, grits out, "Hitsugaya Toshiro . . . It. Is. Very. Nice. To. Meet. You. Too."

They yank their hands out of their shake and squint at one another with burning animosity.

Momo applauds cheerfully. "Okay guys, we're all set to go! We can all be friendly with each other, can't we?"

Hiyori coughs, excuses herself, and dashes out the room, gagging down the hallway with over-exaggerated sound effects. Toshiro, irked, eyes Momo. "Why did you make us do that? That was horrible of you."

"Well," Momo begins. "You are both my friends, and it would really be hard hanging out with both of you if you two just bickered and argued all the time."

"Why would I possibly want to hang out with someone like _her_?" comes the cold reply.

* * *

><p>"How're you doing?" Hitsugaya asks, picking up his dropped daffodils and putting them in a vase with fresh water. "Feeling any better?"<p>

He watches Momo stroke a soft petal of the yellow and white flower. She smiles faintly and turns to respond, "I'm doing great. How's Rangiku-san?"

"Tch." He rolls his eyes. "Recruitment season. Remember last year?"

"Oh yeah." Hinamori cracks up and her laughter is music to Hitsugaya's ears. He hasn't heard her hearty laugh since practically forever. All this Aizen craziness and the Winter War has built distant rifts between their friendship; now it's slowly mending back together. The bond they had back in Rukongai is returning, stronger than ever. "You fired almost eight people. And they went to the Eighth! It's like you did them a favor, but poor Nanao."

Ise Nanao was quite unhappy to be dealing with eight additional drunkards. She and Hitsugaya had a cold period where neither of them exchanged a word for about two years. Matsumoto had complained how the acute woman shunned her every time they had a Shinigami Women's Association meeting.

"She never listens to my idea of sake parties!" his Lieutenant had whined whilst slicing down a rampant Hollow. "Taichou! Why did you do that?"

"Why did _you_ admit all those lazy alcoholics to our squad?" he had retorted.

"It seems like Hiyori-san doesn't really like you that much," Hinamori says quietly. "And you don't like her too much either."

Hitsugaya doesn't answer.

"She really is a sweet girl." He scoffs in disbelief. "No, seriously! She got me off anorexia – I don't know how, but she managed to do that!"

"Wait. Really?"

"Oh, yes. And she made me feel happy when I was feeling . . . dark." Hinamori smiles. "She's a lively companion only . . . she's got a rough side. She doesn't let people get too close to her. Ask her about her past, or her background . . . she will turn cold."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

* * *

><p>I dash down the hallway, almost slipping on the hospital floors, and wrench myself into the public bathrooms, into a stall, and purge out all of the contents in my stomach. That was gross, disgusting, revolting. I never want to go through that ever again; it was almost as bad as getting bifurcated. I gulp down lungfuls of the bathrooms sick crap-air, which makes me vomit even more. Where's that Hanataro dork and his mop? Someone needs to clean this hellhole up.<p>

I cough and flush the shit down toilet, satisfied I got that over with. Hitsugaya Toshiro. A name I will surely not forget. The boy who made me spill my guys out – truly, a memorable experience.

Dizzy from sickness, I slowly head back to my room, seriously hoping that the midget's gone by now. I wind through several hallways, up a few flights of stairs, and through the cafeteria, hoping to stall for some time. A nurse demands to know where I'm going; I tell her to fuck off and before she can snatch me up, I leap down a stairwell, into the main lobby.

Technically, I can walk out of this dumpster whenever I want. Hell, the main door's right in my face, but Shinji and the others all specifically marched into my room, imploring me to stay for a month and a half.

"Please, Hiyorin!" Mashiro had cried, giving me her retarded puppy-dog eyes.

Reluctantly, I submitted to their pleas, and as a result, I regret it. Deeply.

A little pink thing catches my eye. She's sitting in a waiting room chair, looking through some kind of candy magazine. It's the Girl Scout Lieutenant. The one who always weaves in and out of the hospital rooms – I've heard she walked in on a major surgery – asking for food because this Ken-chan didn't make her breakfast. Curious, I approach her. "Hey."

She glances up and grins. "Hey! It's Monkey-girl!"

_Monkey-girl?_ I frown. "Why're you callin' me that?"

The Girl Scout sets down her magazine and points at my face, laughing hysterically. "It's your nickname! Your face looks like a monkey!"

Great. "What?" I say, very careful not to lose my temper and piss off this girl. If I'm not mistaken, that's an Eleventh Division badge on her arm – and that means there's a Kenpachi. That explains the Ken-chan.

I shudder at the thought. Taking a deep breath, I shrug and offer a suggestion, "Do me a favor and make me a new nickname."

The Girl Scout cocks her head, confused. "You don't like your nickname, Monkey-girl?" Before I can respond, she nods somberly. "No, no, no. Not a good nickname." She rubs her chin in consideration.

I sit next to the Eleventh Division Lieutenant awkwardly and whistle a tune that Shinji always blasted back at home in the Human World. A thought pops in my head. "Hey, by the way, how did ya like those chocolates I gave ya . . . uh, what's your name again?"

The Girl Scout points at herself. "Yachiru! That's me!"

"How did ya like those chocolates, Yachiru?"

The pink-haired girl bobs her head up and down. "Yummy, yummy in my tummy!" She points at me. "What's your name?"

"Hiyori. Sarugaki Hiyori," I say.

"Hiyori?"

"Yeah."

"Whaddabout Yori-chan? Yori-chan works, right?"

I freeze in my seat. _Yori-chan_ . . .

_Kyo leads me into the grove. There's a clearing surrounded by towering oak trees and beneath their roots are deep, dark hollows that provide decent hiding places – from Pa's angry moods._

"_Come on, Yori-chan!" he calls. "I needa show you somethin'!"_

_I step over a sprig of poison ivy. Kari always tells me to watch out for the three-leaf clumps and the tinges of scarlet. I'm careful not to touch it because one time, one of Pa's students fell into a patch of the stuff and ending up getting treatment for a week. Kari says that Pa punished him really harshly and I should avoid poison ivy at all costs if I want to avoid getting whipped._

"_Yori-chan. Remember," she held my hand and pointed at the self-effacing, humble plaint. "Three-leaves sittin' together. That's a good rule of thumb." Kari gave me a thumbs up._

_Kyo beckons me over and pulls out his Zanpakuto. "Look here, Yori-chan. You've got a Zanpakuto too right?"_

_I nod vigorously. It's strung over my back and has a red hilt. Its guard has hearts on it._

"_Did you know," Kyo says, bending down to look at me with his eyes. Kari says he has the same eyes as me – brown with some amber and green in them. Technically, they're hazel because they change color a lot depending what lighting I'm in, but most of the time, they're brown. Kari also says Kyo has the same splash of freckles across the nose as me. They're from Ma who went away somewhere long ago. Kyo cups my chin like Pa does sometimes. "Did ya know that your Zanpakuto can look like somethin' else?"_

"_Really?" I exclaim breathlessly. I frown. "Wait, Kyo, you're not fuckin' around with me are ya?"_

"_Language, Yori-chan," he chides. He's joking because he uses the F-word a lot too. Same with the H-word (I don't think that's a bad word, though), the two B-words, the S-word, and whatever cuss words I left out also. That would make him a hypocrite. "Don't follow that dumbass speech of Pa's students."_

"_Shut the hell up." We both laugh. I look at Kyo's smiling face. He never smiles around Kari; they don't really like each other too much. They always end up fighting or arguing about who's better. Secretly, I think Kari's better because Pa pays more attention to her._

"_Hey, Kyo-nii?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_Didn't ya say that ya wanted to show me somethin'?"_

"_Oh yeah!" We laugh again. Kyo's so forgetful sometimes. He unsheathes his Zanpakuto. "Listen, Yori-chan, I'm gonna go into Shikai state. It's when your sword can do more things than just melee fighting."_

"_Really, Kyo-nii?" I stare at his navy-hilted sword. "But you're already really good at Zanjutsu! Why do you need to do more?"_

"_Shh, just watch," he says, focusing. My older brother closes his eyes and speaks really slowly, "Strike, Dokuhebi." A Poison Snake? That's its name. I watch in awe as Kyo's sword glows and lengthens into a huge, shining trident. It's silver and gleaming like a jewel; it's beautiful._

"_Wow, Kyo-nii!"_

"_Watch this, I ain't done yet." He points his trident to the sky._

"Yori-chan?" Yachiru inquires carefully. I instantly snap out of my sudden memory. I breathe heavily.

"Yori-chan?"

"_Don't call me that_!" I raise my fist, intending to land a blow on the Lieutenant's face, but a firm hand suddenly grips my wrist.

"I suggest you find a different nickname for Hiyori here," a voice laughs uneasily. It's Shinji.

Yachiru looks at him, her ruby eyes wide with bafflement. "Why? That's the second nickname I came up with!" She looks at me. "Is Yori-chan okay?"

I try to scream, but Shinji covers my mouth with his remaining hand. He fakes a laugh. "Ah . . . she's perfectly fine. Hey! Hiyori's last name is Sarugaki! Why don't you find something out of that?"

"She doesn't like Monkey-girl thou –"

"Oh, she likes it plenty!" Shinji cuts in. He scoops me up and whisks me into an empty conference room down a couple of hallways.

He sets me down carefully before looking into my eyes, concerned. "Hiyori, you all right?"

I tremble. I'm scared. I begin convulsing with ragged sobs and bury my face into Shinji's best white shirt. "I-I'm s-sorry . . . Sh-Shinj-ji!"

"Hiyori!" He looks alarmed and confused. Sighing, he bends down to my height and pats my back reassuringly. "It's all right. It's gonna be okay."

"No! It's not!" I force myself to look at him through my moist eyes. "I saw _him_!"

"Who? Aizen?"

"No!" I shriek. "_Him_! My brother!"

Shinji freezes. I watch the same memories – the ones we share – flood back into his mind. And it's visible too. I can see the agony and the misery on his face as clear as a mask from the way his eyes stare back and forth between two spots in the room.

"Kyo," Shinji breathes. He stands and paces back and forth before regarding me once more. "Did that name trigger the memory?"

_Yori-chan_. Just the thought of it makes me want to throw up again. I nod. "Wh-when Yachiru said it, I snapped. I couldn't control myself." I look forlornly at the door. "I didn't mean to hurt her."

"You didn't," Shinji reassures me. "Lucky I stopped by in time." He smiles wistfully. "My timing's almost up to par to Kisuke's."

I find the will to snort halfheartedly. "Kisuke's wasn't much better."

"That's true."

We stand there for a few minutes, bathed in those dark memories of the past. My Pa. My brother. My sister. Eighty-five. That dreaded number.

I speak suddenly, "And I saw Kari."

Shinji immediately whips around. "Who?"

"You know exactly who."

"Sarugaki Hikari," he sighs. "She was the most beautiful girl I've ever met. But her last wish . . . _'Keep moving forward, Hirako Shinji'_ . . . that's impossible for me."

"But Shinji." He glances at me. "What did that mean? That memory?"

Shinji is quiet for a moment. And then he answers, "It was probably just a memory, Hiyori. Nothing more than a memory of a past we don't want to remember."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: How did you all like it? I slapped in a bit of Hiyori's past here, so feel free to interpret it however you wish.**

**Now tell me guys: How do you think Hiyori and Shinji met? Rukongai? Shino Academy? I'm really interested to see what you guys think, so feel free to leave an idea.**


	8. The Cold

Chapter Eight – The Cold

Hitsugaya closes the door behind him, careful not make a sound. It's as if Hinamori's great condition is a thin, fragile wire that is stretched to almost breaking point. Any additional pressure or weight will snap than wire in half instantly – even the slightest noise. Sure, it's a bit paranoid, even for him, but he declares keeping his best friend in the best possible state as his current resolve. She needs to stay perfect like that and not teeter off even a centimeter, only then, can she get out of this hospital and resume living her life and resume laughing and smiling with her friends again.

He walks down the hallway – it's calmer now, the buzz of nurses and doctors have simmered down to quiet murmurs and whispers. He passes by the children's ward where recovering youngsters, probably the first years at the Shino Academy, burst with energy despite their broken arms or illnesses. It was just yesterday when he and Hinamori were playing cops and robbers, poking each other with dulled twigs, or exploring a small cave rumored to have once sheltered a red moose. Childhood was just yesterday; they are adults now – well, according to Yamamoto, _young_ adults. Either way, they've grown up and turned away from the simple joys of childhood. They straightened out their priorities and progressed past being clueless of what to do with their futures.

Hitsugaya passes the main lobby where the hubbub is at the same equanimity as the hallways. He sees Yachiru in the waiting chairs, who waves brightly at him. She is here awaiting Soi Fon on behalf of the Shinigami Women's Association, eager to lead the recovered Captain back to her Division for a welcome-back party. Hitsugaya nods curtly.

How the happy little girl ever got associated with Zaraki Kenpachi and furthermore, why Zaraki tolerated the unconditional piggy-back rides absolutely boggles his mind. Does that man pay any attention to his image? Of what others think of him? Hitsugaya rolls his eyes. But this _is_ Kenpachi; he almost forgot about that.

He signs out at the front desk, thanks the clerk, and prepares to exit the hospital. He needs to stop by his office to give Matsumoto the bill for the lightning. Much to his embarrassment, it's an errand he's been pushing aside all week despite the countless alerts from the company. He's been preoccupied . . . with training.

Before he steps out the door, a snippet of a blonde pigtail peeks at the corner of his eye. Hitsugaya whisks around. It's that Sarugaki Hiyori. She has just leaped down an entire stairwell just next to the lobby, landed squarely on her feet, and is screaming swear words at someone up above. He grimaces. That horrible girl; it makes him sick to his stomach to think about how Hinamori forced him to shake her clammy hand. He scowls and slips outside before Sarugaki notices him.

Only to crash headfirst into a familiar man and send him sprawling onto the ground. Lanky, frivolous, and blonde. Hirako Shinji.

"Oi! Watch where you're goin', ya damn fool!" The mysterious man hefts himself to his feet, brushing off his slacks in the process. He rubs his eyes to clear them of dust. "Now who in the world woul –" His eyes widen. "It's you! The kid Captain!"

"I am not a chil –" Hitsugaya begins only to be interrupted by Hirako.

"Blah, blah, blah, blah," he imitates. "Enough with the silly talk. Hey, it's nice seein' you 'round here!"

"Excuse me, but what the hell are you doing here?" Hitsugaya responds coldly. He watches Hirako nonchalantly pick at a fingernail. This man seems to have no awareness of his status as a Captain despite the very inconspicuous white haori on his shoulders. Bristling, Hitsugaya stands straighter, feeling he's suddenly grown three inches taller.

"Well . . . if there's one thing, you _always_ ask what I'm doing. Twice on the occasion, as a matter of fact," Hirako speculates. "And you, my friend, are a protuberant little kid who should be runnin' around with his smokin' hot Lieutenant, makin' an action flick where you two slice down a Hollow, and postin' it up somewhere for all the world to see – instead of questionin' some innocent but amazingly stylish –" He pinches his plaid tie. "– pedestrian who's off visitin' a good buddy of his."

The Visored pats Hitsugaya's head zealously. Hitsugaya clenches his teeth together in fury. "Listen you, stop that at once!"

"Stop what?" Hirako retracts his hand protectively. "You got lice or something?"

"Absolutely not! That is not professional interaction in the least."

"Professional?" The man cocked his head to the side and arches an eyebrow. "Who the heck ever said we were on professional terms? Aren't we buddies?"

Hitsugaya chokes. "Pardon me?" he manages. "Since when have we been – wait a minute!" He snatches Hirako's tie and yanks him closer to eye him on an even level. "How do you know my Lieutenat is h –"

"Kid."

Hitsugaya freezes.

"Get the hell off my sixty-buck tie, 'cause I swear, I'm gonna beat the shit out of you." Hirako interrupts slowly, his words trenchant and dangerous. Hitsugaya releases the designer tie carefully. The Visored continues lightheartedly, "So where were we? Aha, I stopped by the Tenth's office earlier today, and that pretty lady helped me . . . a lot. Rangiku's here name, right?" he says dreamily. "Sweet woman. Tell her Shinji said hi –"

"Drop that." Hitsugaya shakes his head adamantly. "And tell me, why were you in my office? What were you searching for?"

This Visored, Hirako Shinji, is starting to concern him greatly. First, he snoops around the Fifth's office – and now his own in the Tenth. This man may deem a great threat to the welfare of Soul Society if he is left to his own devices for too long, much like Aizen Sousuke. And on top of that, he makes a mental note to berate Matsumoto for conversing with him.

"Like I said before. I'm recollectin'."

Exasperated, Hitsugaya repeats, "_Recollecting_? Explain."

Hirako sighs. "I haven't been here for a while, as you can see." He looks up at the sky, covered in a thin frosting of gray – impending precipitation – and smiles. "Geez, it's a bit cold for April, don't you think? At any rate, I kinda need to regain my landing, if you get what I mean."

"No."

He scowls. "Geez, kid, you're pretty thick for a –"

"I have a name," Hitsugaya cuts in on an air of stateliness. "Hitsugaya Toshiro, Captain of the Tenth Division. You may address me as Hitsugaya-taichou and nothing els –"

"Toshiro, is it?"

"I said to address me as –"

"Alright then, Toshiro-kun. As I was saying . . ." Hitsugaya tunes him out. He is shaking with anger, frustration, and most of all, confusion. Why must this man insist on instigating such problems?

" . . . and therefore, I needa come back to the places I left behind and get a good refresher of this here place," finishes Hirako with a brilliant grin.

Hitsugaya only has one response. "Who are you."

"Eh? Didn't I tell you my name already? Shinji, Toshiro-kun! Hirako Shinji!"

"No, what affiliation do you have with Soul Society? What do you want here?"

To his surprise, Hirako blanches at the question. He takes a moment to regain his composure before answering. "Well, I was a pretty important figure here around the barracks in the old days, I'll tell ya that."

"No, you will tell me who you are – or rather, _were_."

"You are a real jackass, just to letcha know."

"Tell me now."

"Hmph, you insistent little brat. Alright then, I'm Hirako Shinji, former Fifth Division Captain."

Hitsugaya nods; that seemed credible.

But Hirako is not finished, "Superior to former Fifth Division Lieutenant, Sousuke Aizen."

"_Aizen_?"

"That's his name . . ." The blonde man's voice trails off. His eyes are locked on a scene through the doorway: Sarugaki Hiyori. "Hiyori, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"That girl? Everything." Hitsugaya turns to where Hirako is staring. That Sarugaki, she is sitting beside Yachiru, her eyes not exactly looking anywhere. She seemed dazed or mesmerized by something, but the expression on her face is plaintive. The Eleventh Division Lieutenant, on the other hand, is chattering away like a parakeet, moving her arms around wildly to create hand pictures.

Unfazed, he rolls his eyes. "That's the first time I've seen that ungrateful scrap not jumping around or screaming. And I bet it will be the last time too."

Hirako murmurs, "Yeah." Then he blinks. "Yeah! You're completely right . . . _oh shit_." He shoves Hitsugaya roughly aside and tears into the hospital, almost flash-stepping.

The young Captain blinks. He is curious to know what is happening, what is the matter with that strange Hirako Shinji, but he has other things to do on his agenda. Recruitment season, bills, taxes, and other levies, and just coming into his mind, the Visored Repeal craziness. All of this work is just too overwhelming; it all jumped up and bit him right in the back. Hitsugaya, as he strolls away, catches a glimpse of that Sarugaki Hiyori, deranged and hysterical, clinging onto Hirako's shirt like a small child. Her face is – it just carries a strange expression of anger, frustration, and . . . loneliness. He shrugs, turns, and takes the long way back to his office.

Shinji walks back to the hotel. His heart feels like a lump of coal, cold, desperate, and barren. He always feels like this when he thinks of _her_.

Someone once told him things in the world work with an action alongside an equal and opposite reaction. It's a simple law of physics. Yet many people are unaware that this law very much applies to life as well.

Sarugaki Hikari brought him great joy, or rather, _euphoria_, the highest achievement in happiness, to be exact. She was his life, his center of the world. But when she left, that was the complete opposite of _euphoria_. Is it called _dysphoria_? Perhaps. He felt someone killed him at least one million times the second Kari left him, drifted away on that turbulent wind. He felt her pain over and over again until he could recite it by heart.

Sometimes, if Shinji tilts his head towards the cold north wind, he can feel the silkiness of her hair through his fingertips and maybe even hear her mellow, relaxed voice as the powerful current of air resonates through the trees and shrubs. It's as if she's reminding him of her ultimate wish. _Keep moving forward, Hirako Shinji. Never look back, just forget the past, forget me, and keep on moving forward._

He stops walking. Before him stands the barracks of his old Fifth Division. He has visited here not to long ago – in fact, he met that Toshiro kid here.

"Kari," he says quietly. "You there?"

A cold draft seems to billow by in response. Shinji glances up at the sky. It is gray, a light pale gray that appears several hours before a horrible blizzard, like a warning, the atmosphere is a bit nippy for his tastes. "Looks like you are, 'cause I wanna ask ya somethin'."

He sighs and leans against a cement wall. The Fifth's insignia sits above him. "Listen, I just wanna tell you that . . . you know that wish of yours?"

His eyes shift dully to the ground. There is a single ant there, meandering through the cracks and crevices, hefting a yellow crumb that seems to be almost twice as big as itself. Shinji almost smiles. It's like Hikifune, always overstressing itself, an overachiever.

"You see, I was talkin' to Hikifune-san a few decades ago, and she told me sometimes there are things you can't let go. I didn't understand what she meant then, I mean, she was older and wiser than a lot of us – well, not Shunsui's old crew, but you know what I mean.

"Anyway, I've been thinkin' 'bout that ever since. Seriously," he laughs bitterly. "It killed my mind. But now I know why. You tell us to forget ya and pretend ya never existed. I know I may be a real asshole for sayin' this, but that ain't happenin', sweetie."

A chillier bluster whips across Seireitei almost angrily.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Not what you were thinkin'. Hey, I tried at least. I called every girl I met my 'first true love' like when I talked to Rangiku-san today. Doesn't that count for anything?" Shinji looks up at the sky hopefully. No response. "Didn't think so."

He kicks the wall hard. "It's just that whenever I see another gal . . . I see _you_. Well, except for Hiyori, duh." He shudders. "That little monkey looks nothing like you. I swear. Sure, you're sisters and despite what everyone else says, I don't think you two look anything alike."

Shinji pauses before speaking again. "Hiyori. She's really stressed right now, ya know? Remember that ol' pet name? _Yori-chan_? How she hated it so much? Ha, I got a juicy black-eye, remember?" He stares at the sky, fixatedly. "I have a feeling that we ain't gonna be forgettin' ya anymore, sweetie. I dunno why, but I just gotta feeling."


	9. Meeting the Wasp

A/N: Quick note for everyone! Thanks for the reviews, and thank you, tii-chan17 for being such a diligent beta reader! Enjoy!

* * *

><p>Chapter Nine – Meeting the Wasp<p>

I don't talk too much about the midget incident and my embarrassing breakdown afterwards to Hinamori. I want to sock myself in the stomach for getting to the point of bawling into that Shinji bastard's shirt and how he got all emotional and actually _sympathized_ with me. It's humiliating. My stomach seems empty, as if every bit of my pride was violently sucked out of me and gargled down the drain, leaving not even a measly drop. It was sure a bitter pill to swallow.

Hinamori only nods when I re-enter the room, eyes red and nose sniffling. She asks how my walk was. I respond curtly, "I was good," and she nods and continues reading her book. Thankfully, she seems to detect my apprehensiveness and has the sense to respect that and make the right decision to keep her trap shut.

As I walk back to my bed, I notice the vase of daffodils looking all healthy with their fresh yellow and white petals on Hinamori's bed stand. So healthy they're jeering.

I snort in disgust.

Afterwards, life at the hospital is pretty uneventful. The injured from the Winter War are slowly trickling out every day, minus those extreme cases like Hinamori and me, but with all things considered, there's progress.

What's more, that Soi Fon bitch is out of this hellhole at last and has taken back her tight-fisted control of the Second Division. A day or two ago, I stomped down to the main lobby to see her off – this happened about two to three hours after the midget incident – albeit reluctantly, because a certain Momo dragged me out of bed to demonstrate "common courtesy."

Soi Fon's got this fatass Lieutenant named Omaeda-something, but straight on, I could tell that I could take him anytime – even while crippled. Omaeda welcomed his Captain back with the little pink Girl Scout, Yachiru, who seemed to have forgotten our almost-scrimmage several hours ago and cheerfully insisted on taking me to the candy store when I "get healthier."

Soi Fon finally emerged into the waiting room on a crutch, sporting not a stupid-looking bandaged stump of a bicep anymore, but a newly-grafted arm, which she took the pleasure of flexing every so often like a sick, egotistical bodybuilding whore.

"Yay!" Yachiru squealed, leaping onto the bitch's shoulder like a squirrel. "Cat Lady's back! Let's go to the party and eat, eat, eat!"

Soi Fon tried to shove the Girl Scout off, but that girl was relentless and held on fast. Eventually, she gave up and said halfheartedly, "Thank you, Kusajishi-fukutaichou. I am looking very forward to this party of yours."

"We got candy and ice cream and lotsa cats!"

"Taichou!" the fatass belched. Wrinkling my nose, I suddenly smelled in inklings of what I guessed to be potato chips mixed with some extra-spicy eight-layer dip. "Welcome back!"

Soi Fon glared at Omaeda. "Shut your mouth. Whoever told you to come and greet me? And to whom are the ranks currently under jurisdiction, Omaeda? Have you left them abandoned to do whatever they wish? And what of the Onmitskido?"

The fatass scratched the back of his head stupidly. "Uh . . ."

Soi Fon advanced predatorily, slinking like some kind of jungle cat. "And if the ranks end up in pandemonium, who gets the blame?"

Was this bitch trying to pass the buck? I was confused on what was happening, but the way Soi Fon addressed her underling, the way she addressed him as if he were scum, set off a spark in me. And when that happens, nothing good comes out of it.

"Listen, why the hell are you yellin' at him for payin' ya a visit?" I butt in, pushing the fatass aside to face the Second Division Captain. To my surprise, I had to actually look up at her because she stood several inches taller than me.

Soi Fon squinted down on me imperiously. "Sarugaki. I see you have not been discharged yet."

"Screw that. Why're ya bein' such an ass to your subordinate? That ain't right," I growled, jabbing a finger at Omaeda. Beside me Hinamori touched me on the shoulder in warning. I ignored her.

The bitch raised an eyebrow mockingly. "Excuse me? Why must I berate Omaeda in such a way?"

"Exactly."

Soi Fon smirked. "He is useless. That is why."

Her Lieutenant blanched and looked down at the ground.

I was beside myself with anger. Speaking of your subordinate so degradingly was absolutely unacceptable, even if it was slightly true. Kisuke never said anything like that to me, and in turn, I never said anything like that to the Third Seat and the other lower-ranking officers. That was disrespectful amongst our rank because we revolved around respecting one another – despite the fact that I beat around that sandal-loving bastard so much, but that was our trademark love-hate relationship right there.

I clenched the sleeves of my oversized hospital pajamas to stop myself from landing the bitch a juicy black eye. This really wasn't the ideal place or time to take on Soi Fon. I'd violate my visitors' rights. I'd possibly be incarcerated for assaulting a Captain. But nothing in the Shinigami Code said anything about cussing her out.

Before I could speak, Hinamori leaped in with a nervous but enormous grin on her face. "Ah, Soi Fon-taichou! You're so lucky to be discharged today! I miss our Shinigami Women's Association meetings, and Yachiru-chan here makes me feel so jealous when she talks about all the treats at Kuchiki-taichou's home!"

The bitch nodded towards Hinamori. "Thank you, Hinamori-fukutaichou. I wish you the best of luck with your recovery, however doing so is much more difficult with _her,_" she pointed her chin condescending towards me, "as a boarding mate. You may want to switch rooms to ensure better convalescence."

"Wait, what?" I sputtered, not registering the words.

"Omaeda," Soi Fon ordered. Her sheer eyes bore into the fatass's blank pupils like shards of glass. "You are to accompany me to the Shinigami Women's Association meeting. Then, you shall alert the squadron that I am returning tonight at 6 PM sharp for a division meeting."

"Yes, Taichou!"

"Follow me, Cat Lady!" Yachiru pipes up, gesticulating towards the exit.

As the three trio – a lumbering oaf, a staunch fighter, and a bouncy girl – prepared to depart from the hospital with Hinamori waving awkwardly, bidding them farewell, I experienced a first. I'm pretty aware that I've said some mean stuff before to a crapload of people in the past. And believe me, I still do; after all, I've been raised with a dirty mouth.

But in that moment, some of the worst words ever conceived in my head spilled out of my mouth like a handful of beans. I took a deep breath and focused, although it was difficult. My heart raced wildly and thumped loudly in my chest. I glared at the back of Soi Fon's neck, imagining all the things I'd to her provided the opportunity. I was on a natural high; I've never felt this pumped before. And then I spoke.

"You bitch. You snivelin' uppity pimp. You crusty, hairy piece of cock. I wager ya won't be able to fuck a goddamned kitten with that undignified little prick which you are. If I had a penny – not a nickel, but a fuckin' _penny_ – for how many times I see ya starin' through those cat-alogs, droolin' like a fangirl over those gross Maine coons and Siamese and longhairs, wishin' that you could pick one of 'em up and screw it real good, I'd have at least a thousand bucks by now. Yep, I said it like I meant it: a hundred thousand times I've watched ya be titillated by those meaningless little kitties. Now, let me ask ya a favor, all right? Why don't you go off somewhere, take a toothbrush or the end of a lightbulb or, hell, even a flute and fuck a momma cat like you've always dreamed of? And while you're at it," I pause for a gulp of air. I haven't breathed once in at least thirty seconds – damn! "_Eat her screamin' kittens!_"

A dead silence. The entire waiting room had frozen, all eyes locked onto the bitch and me. Hinamori was hyperventilating.

Soi Fon slowly swung around, her Zanpakuto unsheathed. Her eyes were a deathly black, glinting with an obsidian desire to kill. There was also something else in that look – is it amusement?

"Is that a challenge?" she hissed, her voice dangerously low. She stepped towards me, her severe figure reverting smoothly back to her infamous fighter's stance. Reconditioning does wonders.

The room turned its attention on me. I was in a bit of a bind: I left Kubikiri Orochi up in my room. It seemed like I had to take her on with only hands, feet, and teeth.

Suddenly, something scooped me up and rushed me down the hallway, through the corridors. It was Hinamori! She ran like the wind, her hair bun tearing out of its red ribbon, dark hair rippling behind like a flag.

"What!" I protest, thrashing in her grip. She was surprisingly strong. "Let go of me! I wanna kick her pretty little ass!"

"Shut up!"

I caught a glance over Hinamori's shoulder of the bitch. She stood smugly with her arms crossed. She opens her mouth and her words reverberate through the hospital, "You are lucky that you are dealing with me, Sarugaki. Other Captains would immediately eliminate you for saying such crude words. Just remember, I will not forget this incident – nor the ones preceding it. And until next time, watch your neck."

We crashed into our room. Hinamori threw me onto my bed, bent over, and heaved desperately for oxygen. "Th-that . . . w-was . . . a . . . close one." She flopped onto her bed with a groan.

"Geez, why'd ya do that? I could've taken her on –"

"You don't know what you've gotten yourself into!" Hinamori shouted. She was angry. Caught off guard, I did not answer. Still breathing heavily, she sank lifelessly into her pillows. "Oh no, oh no, oh no. What in the world did you do?" Hinamori moaned and dug her head into her pillows. In a muffled voice, "Hiyori-san, don't do that ever again!"

"I swear, I bet I can take that bitch down –"

"This is Soi Fon-taichou we're talking about." Hinamori sat up and faced me. "Her strenth is formidable – she almost mastered the art of Shunkou!"

"Shunkou as in the Shihouin?" I frowned. Only the legendary Shihouin Yoruichi was capable of performing such an advanced technique. I remembered that one time when Mashiro and I were at Urahara's place twenty-so years ago, we sparred with Yoruichi. I remembered she was toying around with us until we heard a loud explosion and seconds later, we were knocked to the ground, breathless.

"Shihouin?" Hinamori raised an eyebrow. "I believe Soi Fon invented the technique."

I just then realized that Yoruichi had shared with us a secret we were meant to keep that twenty-so years ago. I played along, "Oh yeah. Guess I got it confused with something else. Never mind."

Hinamori continued, "But wait, you've heard of the technique before?"

"Kinda, but I don't really get it."

She nodded. "Yeah, well me neither. I just heard that it's crazy powerful."

* * *

><p>A week after my less than friendly confrontation with Soi Fon, Lisa pays me a visit. She bears more bestselling porn novels.<p>

"I heard you lent out the ones I gave you to Kensei," she says flatly. I try to interrupt and extemporize an excuse, but she raises a hand and continues, "No need to explain. I got the memo. Those ones weren't very exciting at all, but these ones are a hell lot spicier."

"That ain't what I meant!"

"Ooh?" Hinamori inquires. She clambers over the second bed and reaches out to take a title. "Books?"

I slap her hand away and point accusingly at Lisa. "No! This ain't literature at all! This is gross bullshit!"

Lisa adjusts her glasses. "Hiyori has a new friend."

"Quit changin' the subject! Hinamori's too innocent t –"

Lisa ignores me and offers her hand to Hinamori. "Yadomaru Lisa. It's nice to meet you."

Hinamori shakes that ubiquitous hand wholeheartedly. "Hinamori Momo. It's really great meeting you!"

I gape at the sight. A perv and a prude exchanging salutations like two acquaintances down a street.

"So you're into literature?" Lisa asks.

The light switch flips on in Hinamori's eyes. "Oh, yes!"

"What kind?"

"Well, I am a pretty well-rounded person – I like mysteries, poetry, fantasy, classics, horror –" My roommate gives up counting off on her fingers. "Anything will really do for me."

Lisa wrests a two-inch thick copy of grotesqueness out of my hands. "What about this stuff?"

"No," I interrupt, leaping up and ripping the porn book out of Lisa's grasp, regaining possession. "There's no way in hell that she's reading this."

Hinamori blinks. "What's so wrong with that? Let me see!"

"You're not her mom," Lisa adds. "She's mature enough, let her be curious. On another note," she takes my arm firmly, "Come outside with me. We need to talk about something."

Protesting all the way, I am dragged by the tall pervert into the hall, leaving Hinamori to the porn literature that will potentially scar her for life. Lisa releases hold on my wrist and crosses her arms. "Hey."

"Don't 'hey' me!" I retort, rubbing my sore bicep. "What are you trying to do? Convert that poor girl into a fucking wh –"

"Let's cut the crap," Lisa says. "Because Shinji told me to tell you that that Repeal's comin' up soon."

"Eh?" I freeze in my tracks.

"You heard me."

Frankly, I've been pushing the very thought of this Visored Repeal shit to the back of my head. I don't want to think about it, much less deal with it. However, regardless of my procrastination attempts, I was pretty aware that it was down the calendar somewhere. It's like a disease in your cells waiting for the right time to erupt and spread through your body, infiltrating your organs and puncturing into your bloodstream. It's not the disease that's really killing you; it's your anticipation of your imminent death.

I slump against the wall and stare blankly at Lisa. "Yeah, so . . . what happens now?" The slight tremble in my voice startles me. It just occurred to me that I was actually _scared_ of this.

Lisa looks forlornly out the windows facing the courtyard. Outside, patients perform their physical therapy exercises, stretching, walking, and doing light abdominal workouts. I remembered out Soul Society took it as a first priority to get the injured back into shape ASAP. They'd build up the intensity of the exercise, day by day, until you could stab and block with a sword as adeptly as you could at full health even though you still needed at least another week's worth of rest. I demanded when Hinamori and I can to do this physical therapy; Unohana said soon.

"I got a question for you."

My eyes widen. "Huh? What is it?"

Lisa almost never asks questions; she usually answers them. She is the person you'd go for advice about practically anything: boys, shoes, pop culture, moral beliefs, politics. Hell, Shinji even asked her what was the best way to pick up a hooker. She explained it to him step-by-step, so clearly that even a preschooler could stop by a club and come home to show his mommy a brand new slut. And he still failed.

She directs her attention on me. "Do you want to stay?"

"Stay where?" I demand.

"Where else? Here, in Soul Society."

"Absolutely not," I snort. "That's crazy."

We stand there in silence for a moment. Lisa likes to think before she speaks. She never says anything without going over it once or twice in her head.

At last, she states, "Good. I guess I'm not the only one then."

Surprising. "You too?"

"Yeah."

"But why? You'd seem like someone who'd wanna stay," I say. "You're tight with Shunsui. Everyone thought well of ya here."

"Kyouraku has moved on. I am nobody here," Lisa replies instantly. "Besides, we both are far past the level of a Third Seat, and all of the Lieutenants' seats are occupied. We'd have nowhere to go. Plus, I'm assuming that you wouldn't want to go back to the Twelfth, do you?"

"Psht, not with that alien freak Kurotsuchi there," I scoff, rolling my eyes.

"We're in a bind though with this entire spiel. Soul Society's mainly focused on Shinji, Love, Rose, and Kensei. The old Captains."

"So?"

"Don't you get it?" Lisa inquires softly. "We're gonna have to split up. Us – Hachi, Mashiro, you, and me one way; the others another way."

My heart almost stops. But before I can regain my landing, Lisa continues, "We'll never see 'em again. They'll retain whatever positions they had those years ago – Shinji, Rose, and Kensei for sure . . . I don't know about Love. The Seventh is commanded by that wolf Shinigami."

"No," I breathe. "Kensei told me about this – he said that he didn't want to take back his position!"

"Relax, he still doesn't. The Central 46 is really pushin' him though."

"No way." I am shaking my head hard. "No fucking way!" I pound the wall with my fist as hard as I can. An aftershock from the impact rips through my arm and I yelp in astonishment.

"Chill, Hiyori." Lisa puts her strong hands on my shoulders. "You ain't finished healing, so you shouldn't putting so much stress on your body."

"Fuck that!" I twist out of her grasp. "There's no way they're leavin' us! No fuckin' way! That's the most fuckin' bullshit in the entire world! I mean, seriously! Why the fuck would they be fuckin' stupid enough as to accept a trippy offer like that?"

"Which is why we're gonna tell them that in about a week."

_A week_. My pulse is just about ready to rip out of chest. I'm that worked up. "What?"

"Exactly what I said," Lisa nods. "We're gonna all meet together at that old place we always went to – you know, downtown? – and settle this once and for all. All eight of us negotiating like _mature adults_."

I notice the emphasis on _mature adults_. Surely, she's not talking about me – I'm as mature as they come. It's Mashiro who needs to grow up, right? Bawling and whining like a big fat baby, "Keeenseei!" here and "Keeeenseeei!" there. The very semblance of _immature _lives inside of Kuna Mashiro.

I'm a bit concerned for the girl, though. She's pretty stuck to Kensei, always hanging around him like a pathetic lost puppy. She tries to endear him and take on that complaisant little lamb image. Mashiro won't bear the idea of her ex-Captain leaving well at all. Some probable reactions to this shocking ordeal would be an ear-splitting scream followed by a cacophony of annoying wailing and ululating or a lunge towards anyone convenient beside her with a dismayed death embrace all packed together with a well of salty Mashiro tears. Simply put, it ain't gonna go well.

"Yeah," I say quietly. "I was guessin' we were gonna do somethin' like this eventually."

Stupefaction appears on Lisa's face. "You did?"

"Why are you surprised? Of course I'd be aware of this beforehand. Did you think I was some kind of clueless and fresh little brat like Mashiro?" I snap.

"No, it's just that I didn't think that you would foresee this," Lisa explains slowly. She suspiciously sounds like she doesn't believe me. "That shows a lot of . . . change in you, Hiyori."

I narrow my eyes. "What are you implying?"

"Oh, nothing at all," she says in her bland voice. "I had no implications of anything – directed towards you nor anyone else – at all. But just remember, a week and we go or stay."

* * *

><p>Hitsugaya, that infuriating little brat, visits Hinamori at least once every other day. He brings a fresh load of those stupid daffodils with him and a new book for Hinamori tucked under his arm. He completely ignores me. So I ignore him.<p>

The only interactions we exchange are evil glares and cold nods. We've both made this silent pact not to disgruntle Hinamori because otherwise, she'd make us shake hands and play besties again. If there's one thing that we both actually agree on, is _no more contact_.

However, I sometimes crack a joke about the little bastard's height just for the fun of it. The way his face scrunches up and turns nasty is fucking hilarious, and the way he tries to suppress his anger and continue ignoring me is just priceless.

I've noticed that whenever the midget leaves us to go back to work as child prodigy Captain, he tends to linger a bit and watch what me and Hinamori do – or rather stand by the doorway and listen. It's unsettling, really. I'm always bracing myself in case he spontaneously leaps back into the room, screaming and hollering like a monster, and scares the shit out of us as some sort of sick prank.

One day, he comes when Hinamori happens to be at a check-up with Unohana.

"She ain't here," I say curtly when he saunters in. I do not look up from my dinner of chicken and beans. Unohana says that both Hinamori and I are not on liquid diet anymore. Hallelujah.

By all accounts, Momo progressed "more productively" than I, thus allowing her to spend less time on the diet, despite the that she started weeks after me. Lucky girl.

"I'm aware of that," he says coolly. I tersely raise my eyes upwards to regard him. "I believe she has her examination at this time."

"Then why're ya here."

"I need to speak with you."

I cross my arms. "What for? Make it snappy 'cause I ain't got all day, midget."

Hitsugaya rolls his eyes. But he turns serious. "Have you noticed?"

"Noticed what?" I reply bluntly.

"Hinamori. Her condition has been improving ever since boarding with you, Sarugaki."

_Improving_. Honestly, I had never thought about such a thing. Confused, I respond whilst chewing my food, "Bullshit. It's the medicine. The goddamned liquid diet. The shots and shit. I ain't got nothin' to do with that. Get outta here and go thank Unohana."

But the bastard shakes his head slowly. "No. That's not true."

I swallow. I set my food tray down by my night stand and crawl out of bed to accost him. "Okay then, what the hell are ya talkin' about?"

Hitsugaya sighs heavily. "Look, Hinamori's been really down before she met you. Depression, anorexia, bulimia, all sorts of unwanted conditions and eating disorders."

I nod. "Go on."

"They tried almost everything. Antibiotics, pills, shots, practically everything you can think of to cure her problems. But it's a double-fronted battle; the medicine does a half of the work, and the rest? It's up to the patient to wrap it up.

"When Hinamori became your roommate, however, I noticed that her conditions seemed to improve – intensely. She started talking more, socializing more, eating more. She was returning to her old self." The midget locks his eyes on mine. "I believe you played a great role in this, am I right, Sarugaki?"

"Well, mostly the food part . . . it kinda started with me shoving a glass of water down her throa –" I shake my head. "But wait, what's the point? Whaddaya want in the first place?"

"I was just getting to that. Sarugaki, I've seen you two interact. You guys are good friends and you've got a real bond going."

"Psht, a bond? I've only known the girl for what? A little more than two weeks?" I snort. "Bonds take years. And don't give me that crap. It's impossible to bond over liquid diet and stupid Jane Austen novels."

"Which is exactly my point. What I'm trying to say is that you made this happen and whatever you're doing . . . you're having a grandiose effect on Hinamori's heath." He smiles a little sheepishly but immediately reverts back to his professional composure. "I know it's not right for me to ask you this, but I'd like you to keep on doing that."

I am tongue-tied. The only response I could think of is, "What."

"Do have to repeat myself? It's obvious that your presence is affecting Hinamori in a good way. What I'd hope you do is to keep doing things the way you do," he repeats with a tinge of annoyance.

"Not with _that_ tone I will, midget."

"Why you insolent –"

"_Insolent_?" I sneer. "Who the hell uses that nerd word these days? What are you? A wrinkly, bald geezer?"

The midget shoots me an evil look and turns around towards the door, muttering under his breath, "You know what? Maybe I shouldn't have come here in the first place."

"Hey, hey, hey. Wait up a sec."

He turns his head unenthusiastically. "What."

"Listen kiddo, er, _Hitsugaya_. I'll step up to your offer."

The kid Captain whips around. "Seriously?"

I bob my head up and down. "Yeah, Hinamori's a friend. I'll make sure she recovers in no time. I swear my life on it."

"Thank you, Sarugaki. That really –"

"But that doesn't give you the excuse to get all friendly on me," I snap.

Hitsugaya narrows his eyes. "Yeah."

"And Hitsugaya? We never had this conversation today, got it?"

"Of course."


	10. Negotiations

**A/N: Hey everybody, new update's out. I'd really like to thank my reviewers and favoriters so much for their loyal support and in addition to my meticulous beta reader, tii-chan17, who's ridiculously timely (I swear, I'll send my draft out and when I wake up in the morning, I'll check my inbox to see its perfect version, sitting there all cheerful and stuff) with her edits. You guys ought to check out her stuff - it's REAL good! Anyway, enough with the ranting and enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Chapter Ten – Negotiations<p>

Feeling greatly satisfied, Hitsugaya exits the hospital with relief. He never imagined that rocky Visored girl would agree, much less even listen to him for the first three words. But, all in all, it was a success.

Although he hates to admit it, there is something about that Sarugaki Hiyori that is beneficial. Beneficial to Hinamori. Momo has boarded with other patients before, Matsumoto being one, but she never showed such emotional convalescence. His Lieutenant perhaps managed to elicit a shrug or a even a small smile, but that was the extent of her efforts.

But this Sarugaki. It seems she shouldered her way into Hinamori, grabbed that depression with her bare hand, ripped it out with raw force, and flung it over the fence effortlessly. And, using the same power, pummeled the happiness into Hinamori's features until an onlooker could see the brightness of her smile four miles away.

Hitsugaya shudders at the thought. It is frightening to think that one can overpower such deep emotional sickness with such brutality. He'd say that Sarugaki is the embodiment of brutality.

He remembers walking into the Fourth Division hospital for his frequent visits and listening to the sounds of the girls' chatter even before he reaches the physical rehabilitation ward. He swore that every day he visited, they would be talking about something absolutely unrelated to the last day. Speech patterns, politics, weather, Jane Austen. Their conversation was as haphazard as Zaraki's sock dresser. He noticed that Hinamori tended to be the one who led the conversation, and Sarugaki tended to be the one who added on.

When he entered bearing a fresh bunch of flowers, the two would look up, cutting off from their gossip. Hinamori greeting him with a warm smile, Sarugaki snorting and crossing her arms smugly. He would have a light conversation with Hinamori and completely ignore Hiyori. The Visored would sometimes make a rude joke or comment, and he would try his very best to continue ignoring her. At last, he would excuse himself, briefly explaining to Hinamori about an impromptu squadron meeting, and bid her farewell. He would give Sarugaki a cold nod. That was how his visits generally went.

And, every time Hitsugaya visited, he noticed more and more improvement. The redness of Hinamori cheeks returning. The bounce to her step. The shine in her hair. The light in her eyes. The energy in her speech. Finally, this improvement was excruciatingly plain to see; it practically barked at him. At that point, he realized this miracle was indebted to that scrap of a girl in the corner of the room who had a downright nasty vocabulary.

Sarugaki Hiyori.

* * *

><p>Recondition kicks ass.<p>

Unohana finally decided to put Hinamori and me on physical reconditioning, which means that we can actually go outside and take a breather from this stinking hellhole. When she brought that amazing news to us, we practically wrecked the ceiling and floor, whooping and hollering like crazed monkeys until she calmly settled us back down with that scary smile of hers.

The hospital's got this enormous courtyard that's got flowerbeds, peach tree groves, and even a quarter-mile-long jogging track. Every morning, Hinamori and I go into this courtyard to do our stretches, exercises, and three-mile walk. I like to run the three miles, but Unohana caught me one day and sat me down on a thirty-minute lecture about relapses and all that medical shit I don't really give a damn about.

And Hitsugaya still visits about once every other day, sometimes even _every_ day. Tied by our secret pact, we continue exchanging stiff nods as to say, "Got it, understood, now get outta my sight."

* * *

><p>Lisa bangs her empty glass on the table like a gavel as loudly as she can without shattering it. "Shut up, guys."<p>

The arguing group slowly winds down to a dead silence, the feisty blonde girl being the last to stop shouting death threats to the other blonde with the straight haircut. The green-haired girl relaxes her vice-like grip on the muscular football player's bicep. The third blonde and the man in the sunglasses and afro cross their arms firmly. The man in the pink tuxedo strokes his chin.

Satisfied, Lisa sighs. "Why don't we execute this in a coherent and _mature_ way, alright?"

"How's goin' back to this fuckin' hellhole a _mature_ thing to do?" Hiyori sneers, stretching across the table to whack Shinji with her flip-flop.

Shinji dodges adeptly, catches Hiyori's arm, and pins it down onto the table, knocking over a bottle of sake in the process. He grimaces, "And how's tryin' to pick a fight, like, every twenty seconds _mature_, ya dumbass?"

"Why you basta –"

"Enough." Lisa casts a steely glare at the two. "Hiyori, let's keep the language professional, and Shinji: quit trollin'."

"Tr-tr-what? _Trollin'_?"

"As I was saying," Lisa continues smoothly. "We're kind of fucked up right now – sd " Soul Society wants Shinji, Rose, and Kensei to come back and fill in as Captains, and they'll grant us all pardons. So we're free, but we've also got the option to come back here. What are we gonna do?"

"_You_ said we had to keep the language professional, you hypocri –"

"And since we're so fucked, I propose we peacefully vote on whether we stay or go. We'll go around the table, cast our votes, and give a reasonable explanation as to _why_ we want to stay or go," Lisa says. She takes a glance around the table, surprised to see subdued, considering faces. "Okay then, you start, Hachi."

All eyes turn onto the soft-spoken man. Hachi inhales deeply and closes his eyes. "A long time ago, I had the position of –"

"We all know that you were the goddamned Lieutenant of the fuckin' Kidou Corps! Get on with it!"

"Hiyori!" Lisa scolds. She normally has a lot of tolerance for the bellicose blonde, but she was starting to get pissed. "Just shut up and wait your turn!"

Startled by Lisa's sharpness, Hiyori falls silent and settles in her seat.

Hachi clears his throat. "I once had the position of the Kidou Corporation Lieutenant, under Tsukabishi Tessai. He was a great master of Kidou and commandeered a great organization. I once had hopes of coming back to Seireitei again and serving under the Corporation once again – specifically, as the vice leader again – however, I have realized that that is no longer possible."

He pauses and surveys the people at the table, his friends for the last one hundred years. "Soul Society has moved on. Captain and Lieutenant have been replaced, interchanged, switched out, switched in. Tsukabishi and I are nothing but wisps of the past. Therefore, I feel it is my duty to leave the Kidou Corps to itself, and go on with my life, doing as I wish. And so, I choose not to stay in Soul Society."

Rose claps. Hiyori crosses her arms smugly and shoots Shinji a victorious smirk.

Lisa nods. "Thank you, Hachi."

"My pleasure."

"Shinji, your turn."

The flippant man turns serious at the address. He sighs heavily. "Guys, I know that several of you –" He coughs. " –are _strongly_ against this, but I'd really like to stay in Soul Society. And why do I want to do such a 'dumbass' thing? Aizen. That's why."

A silence. Mashiro sucks in a breath, eyes ridiculously wide.

Kensei, narrowing his eyes, is the first to speak, "Why."

"Why, Kensei, my good friend?" Shinji counters. "He fucked up my Division. My neat and tidy little Fifth, and he just came up and screwed it up real good. All that's left are irresolute Third and Fourth Seats and the Lieutenant, who's out someplace because he or she's injured or something."

Lisa, out of the corner of her eye, watches Hiyori begin to form words on her lips, but after a second thought, reluctantly falls silent.

"Honestly, it's been a pretty tough decision for me. I really don't want us to get split up, but who knows what will happen? Tsunamis, earthquakes, asteroids, fate's got it all planned out for us." His voice turns dark, "And my fate was to get tricked by my Lieutenant."

The group is quiet again. A sober minute of remembrance.

"So, to redeem my mistake of having Aizen play one over me, I'm gonna take back the Fifth and tidy it up again. Make it mine and go on from there. Start anew. Get the gist of it? And that's why I need to stay here in Seireitei," Shinji finishes, not smiling.

"That's a pathetic reason," Hiyori blurts out. Although everyone knows that she did not mean a word of what she said.

"No it ain't, ya stupid ass."

"Rose," Lisa says, regarding the musician. "Your take?"

The man of class folds his hands together and drums his fingertips on the table's edge, as if playing a silent melody on a keyboard. "Hm, my take, you say? Let's start with this, shall we? Soul Society was my home. I knew almost every street in Seireitei – the best places to drink, like this very bar we sit at, the best places to perform, and conversely, the worst places to take a walk and the worst places to get a bowl of soup."

"Soup? Is that the Fourth Division?" Hiyori interrupts.

"Oh, how did you know?"

"Psht, don't even ask."

Rose smiles discreetly at the small girl before continuing, "As I was saying, I know this place like the front and back Beethoven's Hammerklavier Sonata, and I say so with the utmost truth that I missed this place. Even though I grew used to the warehouse, I always considered Soul Society to be my one and only home. I will do _anything_ to return to the place I loved and grew up in."

"_Anything_ as in almost scrambling like a wet puppy dog out of your seat to snatch back your Captain's seat the second Shunsui mentioned the Repeal?" Kensei rolls his eyes.

Rose stares him down coolly. "Sure, why not? I'm sure that deep inside that all of us want to come back to the place we grew up in."

Shinji's eyes instantly dart to a trembling Hiyori. She is gripping the edge of the table, nails digging into the grains.

_Wrong choice of words, Rose._

He mentally begs her to relax and take it easy, despite the heat of the conversation. Normally, she merely flinches at the sound of any words or phrases that coincidentally link to Eighty-five. But ever since she broke down in the hospital with the incident with the Eleventh Division Lieutenant, Shinji has his doubts. She's as unstable now as a rickety fence.

Shinji exchanges a glance with Lisa. She has noticed as well, not quite understanding, but comprehends his message. She gives Love a passive look. "Love, your turn."

Love, sitting between Rose and Kensei, pat each man on the shoulder and laughs heartily. "Come on, guys, chill. As for me, I really have no purpose here. The empty Captain's positions are all taken over by these three," he gestures towards Shinji, Rose, and Kensei, "So there aren't any open positions for me. Besides, like Hachi, I've done my due. The Seventh's got Komamura – great guy, by the way – and a steady Lieutenant. I've got no place in Soul Society, so I guess I'm not staying."

"Go Love!" Mashiro cheers. "Hey, let's skip stupid Kensei and go onto me, okay? Please, Lisa-chan? Please?"

"Kensei?" Lisa inquires. "That okay?"

"I don't care." Kensei shrugs. "I'll just, I don't know, _frickin' wait my turn and show some common courtesy and let the lady go first_."

"So that's a yes?"

"Shit, just go, Mashiro."

"Okaay!" she drawls, twirling a strand of vibrantly green hair. "Let's see, I kinda wanna stay, but I kinda don't. What are you doing, Kensei?"

"Shut up. You can't ask me that. Just give your vote, take a shit, and go home."

"But we're deciding whether or not we're going home or not!"

Kensei pounds the table. "Listen, you little shit. Just give your goddamned speech!"

"Okay, meanie Kensei!" Mashiro grudging pouts. "I think I wanna stay 'cause I miss all my old friends! Plus, if Kensei's gonna be Captain again, I get to be Lieutenant again right? We can go on picnics again with the squad! Yay!"

"Picnics?" hisses Kensei. "What the hell are you talking about? Those were top-rate extermination missions of the most dangerous Hollows in Rukongai – not fucking picnics! And you won't be Lieutenant! As far as I'm concerned, that scrawny kid's the Lieutenant!"

Mashiro's eyes widen in awe. "Really? I'll just beat him out of the spot, okay Kensei?"

"Tch, whatever. My turn now, right?" Kensei looks at Lisa quizzically.

"Shoot," she shrugs.

"I say no," Kensei states curtly. "Why? I made mistakes, and I'm not making them again."

"What?" Mashiro shrieks. "You're leaving, Kensei? Why?"

"Shut up, you shit," he growls. "Who said I wanted to stay?"

Hiyori slowly raises her eyes to give him a knowing glance. Kensei returns a barely noticeable nod. She remembers him storming into her room, all fired up and ranting. Chucking a hospital chair out the window. And the porn books.

"No, Kenseeeei!" Mashiro wails, clinging onto Kensei's arm like a spider. "We were gonna be Captain and Lieutenant again! Why?"

"I'm done, Lisa," the burly man calls over the ruckus of his ex-Lieutenant's screaming and crying. "And my answer's no."

"That's it?" Shinji remarks, his eyebrows raised. "I'll be damned 'cause I though you was gonna go on a rampage about it or somethin'."

"What are you implying!" Kensei demands, bursting from his seat and shaking Mashiro off.

"Oh, nothing," Shinji assures breezily.

"If you say so," Kensei huffs, unconvinced as he carefully sits back down.

Lisa turns to Hiyori. "Hiyori?"

She narrows her eyes. "What."

"Stay or go?"

"Go for fuck's sake!" Hiyori snarls. "Why the hell would anyone want to stay in this friggin' hellhole? Those Central 46 bastards named us as Hollow scum, and they ordered everyone to kill us on sight! And we should go back 'cause they're askin' us to outta the blue? That's fuckin' bullshit!"

"And as for me," Lisa sighs. "I'm going to be a no because like Love, I serve no purpose here. We're all set now. A three to five vote with leaving as the majority. What now?"

"Hold up," Shinji cuts in. "I've got to get this straight."

The Visoreds stare at him.

"Get what straight?" Rose inquires prudently.

Shinji crosses his arms and regards each and every group member seriously. "My main question is: are we stickin' together?"

"Dumbass." Hiyori shoots up from her seat. "Of course we're stickin' together, ya baldy! What were ya thinkin'? We was all gonna part was like . . ." Her voice trails off as each of the Visoreds look away from her.

Kensei glares at the table. Hachi clasps his hands together. Lisa shakes her head slowly.

Hiyori's heart sinks like a stone. Struggling to resurface, she manages, "S-so we're not stickin' together?"

The group glances at each other for a response, begging for someone to answer the dreaded question. Their eyes shift to Shinji, silently screaming, "Goddamnit, Hirako! You're our de facto leader, so answer her!"

Shinji winces and clenches his teeth together. He knew he was going to face this sooner or later. No one can explain things to Hiyori in a way that she can understand thoroughly and not throw a hissy-fit – well, except for _her_ – so he was the next best choice.

"You see, Hiyori," Shinji begins, treading cautiously. So far so good. "We've all met about this some time before, it was when you were in the hospital and Unohana wouldn't let ya out because you were . . . in surgery. And to get back to the point, we all agreed that we were gonna break apart at sometime or later."

"Get to the point, Shinji," Lisa says abruptly.

"We all agreed we were gonna respect each others' decisions," he blurts out. "This meeting was just to reinstate that concept."

He watches his words register in Hiyori's brain, the gears clicking together. She relaxes. Everyone heaves a sigh of relief.

Feeling slightly more confident of himself, Shinji prods, "So you understand, don'tcha, Hiyori?"

The little blonde girl stands up. She smiles understandingly, "Oh, I definitely understand, Shinji."

He blinks. "R-really?"

Hiyori's smile twists into a nasty scowl. She rounds on him. "Of course not, ya dumbass! This makes no fuckin' sense as to why we're all separatin'! But I get it now." Her voice drops. "I totally get it now." She shakes her head and closes her eyes. "You all were just a bunch of good-for-nothing jerkholes that I spent a fuckin' century hangin' out with . . . thinkin' you all were my _friends_!"

She slaps a few coins on the table and storms out of the bar, not bothering to tip the waiter.

"Wait, Hiyorin!" Mashiro yelps, scrabbling to get out of her seat. "We didn't mean it like that!"

Kensei grips her arm and shakes his head once. "Let her go, Mashiro." He turns to the rest of the Visoreds. "Now that really did it. Look at her now, she'll never want to talk to us ever again. Congrats, Diplomat Hirako." He applauds sarcastically.

"Hey, it ain't my fault!" Shinji protests. "I didn't know that she was going to react like that. I swear, I tried my best –"

"Guys, break it up, it isn't anyone's fault," Love intervenes. "We all know Hiyori's got a way of dealing with things. Give it a day or two, and we'll send someone to talk to her – someone who can make it out of there _alive_, may I add – and we'll solve this once and for all. Besides, we need to wait for the Captains' and Central 46's verdicts."

"I agree," Hachi murmurs. "However, I must vote Hirako-san to be our representative because I would believe that Hiyori would want an apology from him."

"Yeah!" Mashiro pipes in. "You do it, Shinji!"

"And while you're at it, take diplomat lessons," Kensei suggests.

"Always layin' the Hiyori-shit on me, eh?" Shinji rubs his tired face. This morning, he has noticed several lines that he swore never existed a week ago. The slight darkness under his eyes almost gave him a heart attack. "Guys, I think I'll just make things worse."

"Not if you do it right," Love responds. "You've got to approach her the right way and once you've got her hooked, you're on the straight-narrow."

"Oh, stop it." Rose rolls his eyes. "You're just extrapolating Lisa's pick-up tips way too far now. That's ridiculous."

"Why'd you think that?"

Lisa shoos the two men off. "Forget that, guys." She turns to Shinji, surprising him with an excessively solemn frown. "But aside from that, you're gonna go apologize, right?"

Shinji sighs and after much thought, "Sure. I'll give a few weeks though. Let her vent it out on some poor hospital worker or somethin'. Let the steam wear off. Only under that condition."

"Fine." Lisa claps her hands. "We're done guys. Be expectin' the verdict to come out sometime soon. I really dunno when, so stay updated and we'll all meet again when that verdict comes. Now get outta here."

The Visoreds file out of the bar in hushed tones, leaving Shinji and Lisa alone at the table. Shinji takes a sip of his drink and swirls the contents of his cup with a finger. He gestures towards Lisa to pass him the half-empty sake bottle.

Lisa obligingly fills his cup. "Hey."

Shinji downs the shot. He slams the cup onto the table, almost cracking it. "Hey."

"So why'd you make me meeting leader? Why not you?" She traces a pattern on the woodwork of the corner booth table. If she's not mistaken, it has been there since she just became a Shinigami. A surging of déjà vu washes through her mind of Kyouraku's games and affairs and a certain incident involving the busty brunette bartender who was fired on the spot for getting hung-over while on the job.

Shinji shrugs and pours himself another serving. He decides to savor this shot and takes a small sip. "Dunno, just felt like it."

"That ain't like you." Lisa fixes him with a hard, unwavering stare. He tries his best not to relent and meet her slate blue eyes, but after a moment, he slams down his drink and regards her with exhaustion.

"I know," he concedes. "It's just that frankly, I'm kind of frightened of this thing."

"Frightened of what?"

Shinji casts a gloomy look at the reflection in his sake. He is surprised to see how he has seemingly aged a few years – is the stress seriously taking that much of a toll on his health? He always waved that off as a stupid Internet hoax some dumbass human teenager came up with to scare adults. He takes note of the few people around them, probably ordinary janitors or maintenance workers of the lower ranks.

He beckons to Lisa and abruptly lowers his voice. "It's Hiyori. I don't know how she's gonna react to all of this, I mean, she's still unstable from that operation and everything. I'm just really worried about what'll happen to her, psychologically-speaking."

"Shinji, I don't think this should have any affect on her psychological status," Lisa deadpans. She raises a hand. "However, I'm pretty sure I get the gist of what you're saying."

"Really?" Shinji says with a little hope.

"I think so. Now get out of here. There's someone I haven't seen for a long time who's coming in any second now."

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><p><strong>AN: How'd you like it guys? I'd appreciate a little comment here or there, but it really is up to you all.**

**So tell me guys: who is Lisa expecting in the bar? Give me the correct answer and . . . I dunno what'll happen . . . an earlier update, maybe? A free spoiler or something? Just kidding on the spoiler, although the earlier update may be a possible option. Just who do you all think is this mystery person Lisa's waiting for? I'm curious to think what's on your minds. Thanks for reading!**


	11. Walls and Fences

**A/N: Hey everbody! Luckily, I've got an EARLY update this week due to the fact that homework stream from my teachers is quite sluggish - thank goodness. I would like to thank my beta reader, tii-chan17, for being such a diligent editor. Go check out her stuff - it's amazing! And I would like to give a shout-out to TheGodfather93, dragonballzlover2499, and El Frijolero for guessing who Lisa was visiting. Sadly, it wasn't Shunsui. I was going for Nanao because they liked to read together in the past. Nice try though, guys (thumbs up). I'd also like to note Mel72000 for leaving a review as well. Anyway, thanks for all the support, and enjoy the story!**

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><p>Chapter Eleven – Walls and Fences<p>

The second I get to my room, I storm past Hinamori, kick a chair over and flop down onto my bed without another word. I can't believe my "friends" framed me like that, conspiring behind my back about ditching me. If I had a hatchet, I'd go through Shinji's entire collection of jazz records and his vintage record player and chop through his "invaluable" original 1964 John Coltrane LP twice. Bastard.

Hinamori asks if I want to talk to her. It's an innocent question, but for some reason, I flare up. I find myself venting out my stress involuntarily. I cuss out my "friends," screaming out their deepest and darkest secrets, disclosing their most humiliating moments, letting world know about their failures and problems.

I diss Hachi's suit, crack a bunch of gay jokes about the color pink. He wears too much cologne; it almost smells like perfume. He needs to work out and put on some muscle instead of all that useless pig fat on his thighs.

I discredit Rose's musical abilities, claiming they're not legit. He can't play the piano for shit, much less pick a decent genre of music to listen to. Classical? Really? Grow up, asshole.

I disparage Love's hair. If he's trying to go for the afro look, it ain't working. He also needs to ditch those douchey shades.

I vilify Mashiro's stupidity. I swear, she's as dumb as a brick, and whatever flirting she's doing with Kensei, she ought to lay it off for a while. It just looks idiotic and disgrace, whatever she's doing with that redneck.

I downgrade Kensei's intelligence. He's all brawn and no brain, that dumbass redneck. He needs to get rid of that gross tattoo on his belly and also his Prince Albert.

I denigrate Lisa's credibility. Is everything she ever told me true? On second thought, most likely not. Her sources are those sick porn magazines she reads. She needs a life.

And lastly, I go full out on Shinji. I pick at his every folly. The time he tried to pick up a girl at a strip club but failed miserably. The time he made dinner for all of us and ended up burning down almost half of the warehouse. The time he thought "queer" meant creative and started calling himself that for a month until Love finally broke down and shone a light on him.

Hinamori just listens and agrees with me, nodding here and there. She sometimes adds in a question or comment, but mostly she sits in her bed, absorbing ever second of my rant with intensity. The way she listens and regards me so _fixatedly _only encourages me to keep going on.

An hour later, my anger dwindles down to a weaker simmer, and I am bone-tired from venting my heart out. Hinamori offers me a glass of water. I take it gratefully and chug the cool liquid down my dry throat.

To my surprise, Hinamori begins applauding soberly. She claps slowly, fixing me with an intense gaze.

"What?" I croak, throat sore. I am slightly confused; this really wasn't the sort of reaction I expected out of the sanguine, little sweetheart. I was expecting more of a sympathetic pat or a heartfelt hug. Hinamori seems like the caring type who'd deeply commiserate with me and try to understand my ordeal. But a simple applause? I incline my head.

Hinamori crosses over to my bed and sits beside me. "Hiyori-san. You've yelled your head off for the last hour straight – that's ridiculously remarkable. I understand that you are very upset over this. It's horrible, and I well know how bad it feels to be betrayed by someone you thought you could trust. But before you go on, I need to get one thing straight."

"Yeah?"

"Hiyori-san. You and your friends – where did you guys come from, if I may ask?"

My heart jolts in my chest. This is a very touchy subject that brings up dark memories; the very thought of it may invite a nightmare tonight that will leave me shivering in a cold sweat at three in the morning. All eight of us still have those nightmares, and it's not surprising for me to go in the kitchen and see someone already there, sipping a hot cup of tea for some comfort.

I'm sure that Hinamori senses my disconcertion, but she surprising presses forward. "Hiyori-san, I've told you many things about myself, but you've always seemed somewhat distant when we discuss you or your past."

I manage a laugh. It comes out strangled. "Y-you want to know about_ my_ past?" I pull off a garbled grin, continuing to laugh uneasily. "Th-that's boring! My past is pretty much nothing! Nothing at all!" I feel that I'm trying to convince myself more than Hinamori. "Nothing at all!"

"That's bullshit." Her dark eyes lock onto mine dead-on. I've never once heard the girl swear, not even blurt out a tiny "dammit!" Her seriousness is unnerving.

We sit beside one another, not budging for an endless moment, her gaze unrelenting, insisting for an explanation of who I am, where I came from, why I'm here. All these questions I've avoided, taking detours and choosing the winding, misleading path. I've known that I was going to face this sooner or later – just not this soon.

Perhaps talking to Hinamori will put the weight off my shoulders. Maybe I need to open up a little like a clamshell and show what's underneath.

Finally, I give in. "You wanna know about us?"

"Absolutely," Hinamori says. "Start from the beginning. From when you attended the Shino Academy."

Ah, the old days at the Shinigami Academy. Spitting on the teachers, sitting in lunch detention, receiving big, fat C's on my comprehensive tests – those were some of the good, old salad days. It's a wonder I was admitted into the Gotei 13 with my marks. It's not that I didn't want to do well (the curriculum was a easy as hell for me), I just didn't want to do the worthless paperwork and reports and shit. It all seemed a waste of time.

I begin talking about my first day at school, about meeting my first friend who happened to be Lisa. We were awkwardly sitting next to one another in homeroom, not exchanging a single word. Lisa was staring at some guy's junk, probably fantasizing about everything that she'd do to it, heatedly twirling her pencil in excitement. I, creeped out by such a sicko, tried not to watch the frenzied pencil and redirected my attention to prejudging our homeroom professor, a lanky, old man who desperately needed to shave off the last two or three strands of hair on his bald head.

Then, Lisa spoke to me, "Ain't he hot?"

Those three words nearly gave me a heart attack. After five or six years of traveling and wandering through the lands of Rukongai, I hadn't heard that accent from anyone else besides Shinji. Our lazy way of pronouncing our vowels and last consonants brought back childhood memories of my old home. I shuddered. Unease crept up my spine, ready to overtake me, overwhelm me.

I was about to excuse myself, feigning a headache, until the girl held out her hand in a strangely distant kind of cordiality. "Yadomaru Lisa. Nice to meet ya."

"S-Sarugaki H-Hiyori." I stammered, taking her hand.

"Where're ya from? Ya got the same accent as me."

I was very unsure how to answer. I had no intention of leaking out my past to a stranger; it was just stupid to do so.

I did the first thing that came to mind. I lashed out. "Ain't any of your business!"

From that moment on, Lisa and I inadvertently became _friends_. She nodded tersely, and we snapped to attention when the flakey, old professor geezer rapped his pen on the blackboard, indicating the beginning of our first day.

I tell Hinamori and how Lisa and I progressed through the Academy, about how Shinji graduated two years ahead of us and became a third seat, and about how Lisa and I slowly worked up to the positions of Lieutenants of the Eighth and Twelfth Divisions, respectively.

Hinamori listens intently, straining not to miss out on one single detail. Her eyes are alert and brighter than ever. Her hands do not fidget in her lap, totally still in two fists. I'll admit, she's a good listener; she makes me feel like I have something really meaningful to say.

"Wow," she breathes. "I never imagined you all . . . to be attending the Shino Academy. It kind of blows my mind."

I frown. "What? We were Shinigami just you like you. Of course we went to that hellhole!"

Taken aback, heat rises up to Hinamori's cheeks like a wildfire, and she looks away, abashed. "I'm sorry, it's just that . . . I've been hearing things like you guys were outlaws or something. I'm just really curious."

I almost crack up. "Outlaws! Listen, Hinamori, we ain't criminals. We all held positions as Lieutenants and Captains, well, until we were shipped outta here for some felonies, but that's beside the point. Long story short, just don't worry about it. We ain't gonna blow up Seireitei, I assure ya."

"But I don't understand!" Hinamori urges, nudging me slightly. "I've been meaning to say this, but _what_ did you all do to make the Central 46 'ship' you guys out? I'm just really confused!"

I suck in a breath. This conversation's getting dangerous again. "It's a really long story and –"

"We have time."

"I don't know about that . . . it's really damn long. Probably take about several decades to tell." I am stalling for time now. Perspiration begins to form on my temple as I rack my brain for a palpable excuse to bolt.

Hinamori smiles, unaware of my stress. "It's fine! We're going to be stuck in this hospital for a while, so you might as well start."

"What'll take several decades to tell?" We whip our heads to the door to find that midget bastard, Hitsugaya, walking in with yet _another_ bunch of flowers for Hinamori.

The girl perks her head up eagerly and waves her friend over. "Hitsugaya-kun! We were just talking about Hiyori-san's past! Would you like to join us?"

I blanch. Am I telling this to an audience now? I suddenly feel queasy, and the world flips itself upside down. I see spinning colors mingled disgustingly with Aizen's perfunctory, superficial laugh. His hand – it's deathly-white, enormous, and huge – descends down on my, slowly and cackling with glee. I see that sword, Kyouka Suigetsu, materialize in that hand with its emerald hilt and hexagonal guard. There's an agonizing pounding in my head, not exactly a headache but more like a palpitating heartbeat, or rather a countdown. Each throb sends jets of pain shooting through my mind, a psychological attack.

"You made a wonderful test subject for me that night, my dear."

I snap back to reality. Hitsugaya and Hiyori and conversing like old friends. The room is right-side up. No more spinning colors, no more Aizen.

"Hey guys, I'm gonna go outside and get some fresh air." I lurch myself out of my bed, push past a wary Hitsugaya, and make a beeline for the courtyard.

"Huh? Hiyori-san?" Hinamori says as I rush out the door.

Once outside, I briefly notice the yard's empty with the last rays of the sun turning a peach-pink color, letting the atmosphere extinguish and subdue their last lights of fire before I dash to a nearby hibiscus bush and retch my guts out. I let the toxins of Aizen's influence turbelently flush out of my system after each cough. So long, you bastard. Get the hell out of my mind, you creep.

I relax for a moment and let the cold, crisp air refresh my exhausted lungs. I take a few deep breaths. It's really unsettling to know that Aizen's still alive after all Kurosaki's done to suppress his power. That man who condemned us to years of exile is still in Soul Society as I speak, locked miles beneath the ground in Seireitei's most tightly-guarded quarters. Merely locked up and rotting down there like a piece of moss. It disgusts me to know that is how the Central 46 decide to deal with Aizen. Send him off, still walking on his two feet, just shackled.

He ain't dead yet.

That brings another up another purge of vomit. I empty out the contents of my stomach all over the budding hibiscus flowers mercilessly, not caring how I quenched their imminent beauty. I feel emaciated. Despite spending weeks in the hospital in an attempt to recuperate, I feel not the slightest bit better now. It's as if Aizen channeled that sickness and injury back into me, smirking as I suffer.

When it's finally all out, I clench a handful of clean hibiscus leaves and wipe my mouth crudely. I may have missed a spot, but what do I care? I just want to go home. I just want to get away from Soul Society, from Aizen locked up right under my feet.

It's starting to get colder. I have no intention of going back inside and facing Hinamori's inquiry again, so I find a sullen bench and slump down. The sky is turning dark, and some dark storm clouds are starting to swamp over the pink sunset mystique. The wind has become stronger and chillier. And I don't care. I occupy the full length of the bench, stretching my legs out across the old grains.

For some reason, I feel vaguely comfortable right now. Like someone's with me amidst all this inclement weather. I sit here for the next thirty minutes, hugging myself to keep warm. I'm thinking it's about eight in the evening based on the measure of darkness, but I still don't want to go back. I guess I'll just stay out here. It's more comfortable anyway.

The time passes, and I think about my past. I venture towards that iron fencing I have meticulously constructed around certain, undesirable memories using soft and discreet steps. I poke and nudge at the nooks and crannies of my defense only to find no response.

Hell, I can hardly remember. Instead of focusing on the big picture, I think of the nitty-gritty details. All right, _her_ name was Hikari. _His_ name was Kyo. Pa. A convulse of pain courses through my thoughts; I back off.

All of this reminiscing is simply way too painful. I thunk my head back onto the wooden armrest of the bench. _Why is it so cold all of a sudden?_ I blink in surprise. Normally, I'm accustomed to chilly weather, but _this_. It seems the atmosphere's taken a drastic turn, dipping at least ten degrees down the thermometer. This cold's _unpleasant_.

A vehement gust of wind picks up my hair and yanks it forward in response. I wince as the blast pummels my head and crunches down on my exposed legs and arms. The hospital gowns really only cover a limited surface area of skin.

I really should go back inside, but frankly, I'm _scared_. So I exhale sharply and decide to sit out the storm until the morning.

I hear footsteps approaching, but I'm too frozen to see who it is. Unohana? She's probably flipping mad by now, so her footsteps would sound a bit more frenzied. Hinamori? Too slow. Shinji? Too organized. Lisa? Too stiff.

"Hey," the footsteps greet me with a cool tone. It's Hitsugaya. He seems unruffled by the weather, his arms crossed unexcitedly over his chest while the wind whips up his spiky hair. The little side-bang that crosses over his face dances fervently on the crest of the bluster. In contrast, he's completely composed.

"What do you want," I say despondently, refusing to meet his lowered eyes.

"I want to apologize about Hinamori."

"Yeah."

"No, I seriously want to apologize for her curiosity," he asserts.

I eye him suspiciously. He's seriously, all right.

Hitsugaya stands over me, pondering on how to continue. He looks at the ground in concentration before speaking again, "Hinamori's a bit intrusive sometimes when she wants to get information. I just told her back off some, to give others some privacy."

I watch that little white side-bang flicker and twirl in the air. It seems to have a freelance routine of pirouettes and leaps and twirls; it has a mind of its own. So free, and so lithe. I'm jealous.

"Sarugaki?" He regards me with his turquoise irises.

"What the hell are you talkin' about, dickhead?" I retort, eliciting a scowl from his once reserved expression. "There ain't nothin' wrong wi' me. I'm just gettin' some fresh air, stupid!"

Hitsugaya rolls his eyes. "I'm not the stupid one. No one 'not stupid' would go outside in near-freezing weather that's practically asking for a blizzard . . . just to get 'fresh air.'"

He's got a point. And that's seriously pissing me off. "What're ya implyin'!"

Hitsugaya heaves an exasperated sigh. "Listen, Sarugaki. If you're uncomfortable talking about . . . things . . . there's no need to say anything. Hinamori'll try to be more respectful," he shrugs and continues stiffly, "I hope. So don't worry about it."

I actually feel a single brick lift itself off my chest. I snort, "I don't know what the hell you're talking about, midget."

"Okay then," Hitsugaya replies. "I'm going to be on my way then."

I watch him head back to the hospital, his white haori sashaying back and forth in the wind like a flag. The bold "ten" on his back seems to cast me a last glance before he disappears down the hill and towards the main lobby, proceeding to check out. I notice how short he really is.

Feeling somewhat better, I slide off the bench and trudge back to my room through the ever-growing ferocity of the winds. As I approach my room, I think about that iron fence in my mind. Although Hinamori will refrain from asking questions, based on Hitsugaya's words, I can't lock away these memories forever. All doors are going to be unlocked sometime or later. Keeping that mind, I return to the room.

"Damn, it's cold out there," I say, absorbing the toasty heat like a solar panel.

"Hiyori-san!" Hinamori blurts out simultaneously. "I'm sorry for being so –"

"Not hungry at dinner?" I cut in. "Girl, I had to vomit out all the shit in stomach outside 'cause I had nothing to eat 'cause _someone_ didn't feel like eatin' anything."

"No," Hinamori stresses, obvious ashamed of herself. Redness stretches across her cheeks, crossing over the bridge of her nose. "I meant for acting so intru –"

"How about this," I propose. "You stop being not hungry from now on, and I'll forgive ya for everything you've ever done to me, as if there's anything at all, okay? A win-win situation and hooray. All right? Deal. Now shaddap 'cause I'm gonna ring in some room service, and let's order a buffet. What do you feel like eatin'?"

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><p><strong>AN: How'd you all like it? **

**Hey, guys? Are you digging The Hunger Games as much as I am? If so, you might want to check out my "The Rukongai Games" story (which also employs a HiyorixHitsugaya pairing - woo!). It's a spin-off from The Hunger Games series, using the idea of the Games and substituting in respective Bleach characters (i.e. Hiyori's going to be my "Katniss"). **

**Also, I'm working on a new fanfic named, "Different," which explores the newfound relationship between Hinamori and her captain, Shinji. It would make my world if you all were to check those out and leave some feedback for me!**

**Please, please, please gives those two new works a chance! Gosh, I better wrap up this note quick before it becomes longer than the chapter! Eek!**

**Thanks to all the dedicated reviewers out there! You all brighten my day whenever I see a review alert in my inbox - seriously, you do. And please leave some feedback, you shy readers out there! How about this . . . you leave me some constructive criticism . . . AND I'LL LEAVE YOU A REVIEW TOO! Hurray! Yeah, that's what I'll do. Some help for help in return. Anyway, enough with the subliminal advertising! See you all at the next chapter!**


	12. A Toast

**A/N: Hey everybody! Sorry for the REALLY late update! I've been really busy with schoolwork and all that jazz, so . . . yeah. I've got the next chapter of this already typed up and in the works, so expect it to come out in at MOST, three days. Hurray for Memorial Day break! I'll need to tell you all that I'm going to take a little breather from this for about two to three weeks to dig into what I've already got and REVISE, REVISE, REVISE, so if you get an "Update Alert," it's only just that I reuploaded a chapter. No biggie.**

**I'd like to thank all of you dedicated reviews. You all seriously keep my spirits high! AND I'd like to thank two individuals: tii-chan17, for being such a dedicated beta reader, and The Rish, for being such a hardworking editor! Thanks a ton, guys! Well, enough with the rambling and on with the story!**

**P.S. Oh, and mysteri0us? You might want to look in this chapter for some "hints," if you get what I mean (wink, wink :D).**

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><p>Chapter Twelve – A Toast<p>

Normally, when I get nightmares, I find myself always pursued by none other than Aizen. The settings are always different – dark, winding corridors, ambiguous swamps, foreboding coniferous forests – but Aizen always has the same expression on his face, a cruel and amused smirk. He chases me not on foot but by _floating_, looking not the least ruffled despite how far we've run. I will be sprinting a good one thousand meters and him? Floating after me effortlessly, chanting about how good of a "test subject" I was.

But tonight, I get an unexpected visit from 85. District 85, Rukongai. A land of deciduous mountains and tiny creeks. It is abundant with wildlife, flourishing with a variety of birds, fish, and flower species, along with larger predators such as foxes, wolves, hawks, and even the occasional bear. I am walking through the forests, no destination in mind. I pass familiar landmarks. The boulder shaped like a nose. The Barracks in the secluded caves embedded in the eastern side of the mountains. The two-hour long route Pa made us run every morning that wound between hills and valleys like a whimsical serpent. The lake that we swam back and forth in for another two hours in the hot afternoons that abounded with curious tadpoles and dragonflies.

And I find the clearing. It's a grassy plot of land devoid of all trees and shrubs, fairly flat, and covered in dandelions. It looks like an enormous soccer field. This clearing served as training grounds for Pa's "students." This is where they practiced sword fighting, close combat, and other battle techniques that Pa really stressed on.

I make my way through the yellow flowers, taking note of some white-haired sprouts, some slightly bald. I used to pluck off all the fluffy seeds of the dandelions, chuck them onto the wind, and announce the flower as a "baldy."

And then I see _her_. My Hollow.

She looks just like me. Same height, same hairstyle, same body. Only that she's the complete opposite of me. She talks slowly and softly, almost whispering, and she never raises her voice, even when she's pitching a fit. She's the kind of individual who gets pretty damn angry but keeps a tight leash on it. Her fury is virulent – but it boils beneath her skin, which is just as fearsome as unleashing it on someone else.

"Yo." She nods with a wry smile on her white face. Her amber pupils glow dangerously in their pitch-black sclera like ghostly lights in the dead of night. They're really unsettling – her eyes – and sometimes, a nightmare comes along, and I find myself trapped in my Hollow's unrelenting glare. "'Sup, boss?"

In matter of seconds, she flash-steps right beside me. I freeze in response. How the hell did she get so fast? I shake the thought out of my head and brace myself for an impact. Sure, it's been a while since I've had a good fight with my Inner Hollow. Even I can't go too long without itching for a chance to beat the bitch's ass and show her who's boss.

"Hey, chill." I blink and without thinking, I whisk around. My Hollow raises an eyebrow, putting her hands up in a peaceful gesture. "Relax, bitch. Don't wanna fight right now. We just needa talk fer a sec or so. Sit." She plops down on the grass, sitting crosslegged, and points to the grass in front of her.

I warily lower myself to ground, anticipating an attack, but my Hollow nonchalantly inspects her fingernails, which are well manicured and clean unlike mine. She points to her neatly crossed legs, and rolling my eyes, I copy her, derisively positioning my legs to the old "criss-cross applesauce." The neat freak.

"So," my Hollow says, plucking a dandelion. She mercilessly picks off the little canary yellow petals, wringing them into the grass unceremoniously. I grit my teeth. She's trying to piss me off, I just know it. "It seems that we've got a new friend."

I don't answer. I watch her torture the poor flower, bitter words simmering on the tip of my tongue. My Hollow snickers and tosses the mangled dandelion into my lap. "Hinamori Momo. She's a sweet girl, ain't she? Innocent as a lil' lamb, eh?"

I clench my teeth harder. My hand tightens into a fist. She regards me coolly with level eyes before continuing, "And what about that lil' midget? Hitsugaya, ain't it? Real bastard, eh? But what really baffles me is how _you_," she jabs a finger towards my chest, "are promisin' such a bastard a duty as t'help that Hinamori chickadee. That, bitch, really pisses me off. Ya know that we don't see eye to eye on that."

"Who said we had to see eye to eye?" I growl. I refuse to match my Hollow's gaze and direct my glare towards a line of ants crawling across the ground, meandering through the blades of grass. I'll only crack if I do, and immediately, the bitch will take advantage of me right there. "I'm boss, and we both know that."

"Ah, that's right."

In the distance, thunder booms. A curtain of cumulonimbus advances across the gray stratus, easily overcoming the lower clouds like an imperial army to a ragtag group of guerilla warriors. A strong wind whistles between my Hollow and I, a warning.

"Well, I've got a proposition fer ya." My Hollow leans back on her elbows. She holds a white finger up to her lips, and I understand the message. I seal my lips closed. "Good," she says. "Yer gettin' the hang o' it now, bitch. Listenin' to others so ya don't get cut up 'gain. Congrats. But as I was sayin', I got a deal to make wi' ya." She thinks for a moment. "Ya see, I'm not too fond of ya associatin' wi' this Hinamori."

"Why," I demand. "She ain't any threat."

"_She_ ain't," my Hollow agrees to my surprise. "But I just gotta feelin' that this Hinamori doesn't sit well wi' us. She's gonna lead us down the wrong road, if ya get what I mean . . . _Yori-chan_."

Instantly, I have my Hollow by throat, pinning her upper torso to the ground. She smiles at me, at ease as she always is. I clench her neck tighter with each word, "_Do. Not. Call. Me. That._"

I release her, and she roughly shoves me off of her. She redoes one of her impeccable pigtails, smirking the whole time. Bristling, I snarl, "You shouldn't be here, bitch."

"What's _here_?" my Hollow queries innocently.

"This place!" I hiss, waving an arm around the landscape. "I never wanna see this hell again!"

"Then we're on the same page. Don't interact with that Hinamori anymore."

"That's complete bullshit. Hinamori has absolutely nothin' to do wi' this place!"

"Okay, let's cut the crap." My Hollow takes a deep breath. She gingerly massages her throat, grimacing slightly. "I knew that ya weren't gonna comply real easily, so I'm gonna get this straight. My services are gone if ya keep goin' off wi' this girl, alright? I ain't gonna let ya use yer mask."

"Yer kiddin'," I say, sucking in dead air. My heart thuds in my chest. "I'm the boss. I tell ya whether or not –"

"Well, this is a 'special circumstance.' I'm actually steppin' in the way of our own good and tryin' to prevent an impendin' doom fer both o' us, so consider it a favor done, bitch."

"No, that doesn't make any sense."

"Listen," my Hollow sighs. "Are ya gonna keep interactin' with Hinamori or not?"

"She's a friend, dammit!"

"Then, _no_," she says firmly. "I ain't gonna. It's your decision." My Hollow stands up, looming over me. She turns around to face the imperious storm clouds in the distance. "Without me, yer gonna have to use yer Zanpakuto." I tense as a rush of fear surges through me. She shrugs. "Not too pleasant, eh?"

"Why are you doing this to me?" I say, quavering. "Since when do ya have any fuckin' concern fer what I do? Yer a goddamned _Hollow_, for Pete's sake! Ya shouldn't care 'bout me at all!"

My Hollow does not turn around. The wind ruffles her pigtails, lifting them up into the air. We stay there, both unspeaking, the gale drowning our anger, mine flaring outwards, hers crackling inwards. Finally, she speaks, "Hate to admit it, but if you're fucked, I'm fucked."

"No dip, Sherlock. We're fuckin' tied together!"

"Exactly. So by lookin' out fer ya, I'm also lookin' out fer myself. And if there's one thing, we both don't wanna come back here." She takes a step forward, and the landscape, on cue, shatters like the glass of a memory.

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><p>I yank myself out of my bed, gasping for air. Oxygen. I need oxygen. I try to control my breath intake, but my lungs desperately claw for air. My heart pounds in my chest, equally flustered. Eventually, I settle down, regaining control of my breathing. The room is empty; Hinamori's bed is neatly made, the covers wrinkle-less and the pillows plushy and comfortable. It's bright. Sunlight floods the room in a bright, blinding glow, almost making me see stars. I glance at the clock to see it's about nine in the morning. An eleven hour slumber? That's seriously fucked up of me.<p>

Rubbing my eyes, I drag myself over to the little bathroom and laggardly brush my teeth. There's a disgusting taste in my mouth that's as sour as an acid. Luckily, the mint toothpaste does the trick, and after two or three rinses, I cleanse my mouth of the shit. I contemplate whether or not to take another shower; after all, I already took one last night. But that nightmare has me feeling all discombobulated, so I feel the urge to freshen up. Scooping up a bottle of shampoo, I step into the shower.

After I wash myself, I don't know what to do. I don't want to hang out with Lisa or Mashiro or any of my old _friends _because I feel betrayed. I don't ever want to see the likes of _them_ around here anymore. They're in my past, merely memories. And I don't want to go to the courtyard either. Honestly, the thought of getting exercise is kind of _gross_. Now, that's a first.

From the corner of my eye, I catch a slip of pink paper on Hinamori's pillow. A note? I wrap a towel around my damp hair and head on over to investigate. My fingers slide onto the smooth stationary, and I read neat handwriting.

"_Good morning, Hiyori-san! I am up and early today because I am meeting with friends for a get-well party, which is taking place in the cafeteria. We will be eating delicious delicacies and chatting, and I would like to invite you to join us. You seem to be sleeping quite well, so I won't disturb you at the moment, so once you're up and ready, come meet us in the cafeteria. Yours truly, Hinamori Momo._"

A party? I rub my eyes, feeling not the least bit "up and ready." Goddamnit, my head aches like crazy! I don't usually have migraines, and this particular one leaped up and bit me when I am least expecting it. I find myself some aspirin in a cabinet stuffed to the brim with over-the-counter drugs available for patient use – as directed by the physician, of course – and swallow a white pill with a swig of tap water.

For some reason, I kind of want to meet some of Hinamori's friends to see whom she interacts with. I'm curious; the only life of hers that I'm familiar with is her hospital life: and face it, that ain't no life at all. So I find myself making my way down the hallways and opening the door to a humming cafeteria that smells of cakes, cookies, and other party foods.

"Hiyori-san!" Hinamori's head pokes up from a crowd of Shinigami around a table as I open the cafeteria doors. She quiets her friends and gestures towards me to come over. Tentatively, I step into the party, feeling somewhat awkward. Hinamori scoots over to make room for me, and I slowly take a seat. She pats me on the shoulder. "Everybody, meet my roommate, Sarugaki Hiyori!"

"Hey," I say bluntly.

The partygoers cheer, some clacking glasses together filled with some brand of sake, and a burly redhead heartily pounds me on the back, much to my irritation. But I stay calm. These are Hinamori's friends.

Hinamori begins to introduce me to her entourage, which consists of five people. The redhead who laid his hand on my back is apparently Lieutenant of the Sixth Division, Abarai Renji. Honestly, with the tattoos and all, he looks a bit like a retard. Sitting beside the retard is a strawberry-blonde lady with colossal tits who happens to be midget's Lieutenant, Matsumoto Rangiku. We've got a nerd girl who reminds me vaguely of Lisa, the Eighth Division Lieutenant, Ise Nanao, a dude with a tattoo that looks like Kensei's sicko "69," the Ninth Division Lieutenant, Hisagi Shuuhei, and lastly, a blonde, depressed-looking fellow, the Third Division Lieutenant, Kira Izuru, the one Hinamori constantly blabbers about.

They all seem like decent people, not bitches, bastards, or dicks. Well, that Abarai gets on my nerves with his blatant thickheadedness, and that Ise seems too severe, but otherwise, I wouldn't get too many aggressive reactions around these guys.

Matsumoto offers me a glass of that weird sake drink. "Have some, Sarugaki! It's great!"

"Well, I'm still kinda in recuperation," I begin, taking the drink. "I reckon it ain't too good of an idea."

But the woman already refills her own glass swiftly and raises it to a toast. "To the health of Hinamori and Sarugaki!" Conceding, I clink glasses with her, and together, we gulp the shot down, fire searing down our throats and stomachs in satisfaction.

"Now that," I say, holding my glass out to Kira, whom I notice sits _very_ close, almost protectively, beside a red-faced Hinamori, for a refill, "is some good shit."

"Is it a good idea for you to have more?" Kira queries, protectively gripping the neck of the bottle. My eye twitches. He looks me up and down, as if analyzing if I'm a good influence on the lovely lady giggling beside him. Poser. "I mean," he continues, "you _are_ still in recuperation, as you said before, and a child should not be drink –"

"Call me a _child_ again, and I swear, bastard, I'll hunt ya down t'night, break into ya room, and tattoo 'pussy wuss' over your tummy an' upper thigh, 'gardless of all the screamin' fer mercy and prostratin' ya do."

"Said it, girl!" Matsumoto leans across the table and snatches Kira's bottle eagerly, filling both our glasses. "Geez, girl. You remind of my Captain so much – in a sense. But if only if he were as cool as you. You know how to party; he's a total pooper."

Once again, we drink a toast to good health and fortune. Hinamori laughs beside an ashen Kira, chattering away with the retard Abarai and Kensei-wannabe Hisagi and gossiping with Ise. I exchange a glance with Matsumoto, who still shows not a sign of inebriation – yet. On the other hand, she seems to be impressed with me also. Frankly, I know how to tackle a six-pack brewski, no sweat. I _did_ have about a century's worth of practice. We watch Hinamori having such a great time, and we match each other's gazes once more. I nod, and Matsumoto fills another two glasses.

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><p><strong>AN: Well, how'd you all like it? Feel free to leave some feedback in the review section below! I'd really appreciate it! Once again, watch for the next chapter, which will come out briefly. I swear, it's when all the shit comes down.**


	13. The Straight and Narrow

**A/N: Update! Yay! A shout-out to my diligent beta reader, tii-chan17, and my industrious content editor, The Rish! Check out their fantastic fics - they're AMAZING. Oh, and please leave comments/feedback/anything! I'd appreciate it! And one last thing: THANK YOU, LOYAL REVIEWERS!**

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><p>Chapter Thirteen – The Straight and Narrow<p>

When I'm in good spirits, that usually means two things: a) I'm cheerful and more optimistic, and b) those around me have a lesser risk of getting injured. That's what Lisa told me before she turned into a bitch and abandoned me. Unohana's just told Hinamori and me that we've got only a little ways to go before we're out of this hellhole of a hospital. Hallelujah. What's more, we can be discharged together and go out for a celebration meal with Hinamori's friends again. That means another drinking contest with Matsumoto.

"Hiyori-san, how do you have such a great tolerance for alcohol?" Hinamori asks as she folds up a dirty hospital gown for the maintenance staff. On the other hand, I crumple up my shirt into a clump the size of a basketball and make a three-pointer into the laundry basket from my bed. Hinamori shakes her head with a hopeless smile, pulling out my dirty clothes with careful hands. She patiently folds them into neat squares before setting them back into the basket.

"Dunno," I say, slumping into my pillows. "Practice makes perfect, I guess."

"That's an interesting thought." Hinamori laughs and flops onto her mattress, her back flat against the sheets.

We stay there, relaxed, for a good fifteen minutes, listening to the clock tick time away and the sounds of pedestrians walking around outside. A thought hits me, something I've been meaning to say for a while, but it just kept slipping out of my head. I scramble around to face Hinamori who jerks to attention the second she meets my eyes. "Hey, I needa ask ya somethin', if ya don't mind."

"Well," she says, nonplussed. "Sure, what is it?"

"Come t'think of it, ya haven't told me what gotcha into this hospital yet. I never really got the chance to ask ya, so I guess I might as well do it now." I fix her with a serious look. To my surprise, Hinamori seems a bit . . . nervous.

"You mean, what happened to me?" Her voice is tentative, like small tiptoes across a rickety bridge. It lacks the vigor of her incessant chattering, and it sounds remotely confident.

Immediately, I'm alarmed. "Well," I respond, backing off. "If it's too . . . uncomfortable for ya, ya shouldn't really jump into th –"

"No," Hinamori interrupts, suddenly fortified. "I think it's time I told you what happened." She takes a deep breath and steels herself. She regards me steadily, her brown eyes unwavering. She lifts up the hem of her shirt, revealing her healing wound. "Hitsugaya-kun did this to me."

I stare at the bandages covering her chest. I cannot speak. That midget did this to her? It doesn't make any sense; they're best friends, for goodness sake! How's that even possible? "Hitsugaya?" I manage.

"It was at the battle of Fake Karakura Town. Hitsugaya-kun was under Aizen-taichou's Kyouka Suigetsu." My mind leaps at the name of _Aizen_. I bite my tongue to keep from interrupting. Hinamori turns her head forlornly at the clock on the wall, several strands of her bangs dipping near her eyes. "He had charged Aizen-taichou and had cornered him. And he thought he had landed a killing blow on Aizen-taichou: when it was really me . . ." Her voice trails off.

"What," I blurt out immediately. "But that would mean, 'cause Hitsugaya was under that godawful Zanpakuto's spell, it'd really be Aizen's fault that ya got hur –"

"No!" Hinamori barks, catching me completely off guard. She is angry now, her face a flushed crimson, her eyes hard as diamonds. She is clenching her sheets in tight fists, as if trying to contain her anger. I bite my tongue, cursing in my mind for going too far. I'm such a fucking bitch sometimes.

"Ai-Aizen-taichou ac-accidentally u-used me," Hinamori quavers, her angry on a thin, refined line. "I know he didn't mean to. He-he'd never do that on purpose!"

That set me off. That was, by far, the most bullshit I've ever heard in my entire life. "What the hell are you saying," I growl. "Of course he'd use you. And deliberately, too. Aizen was a bastard, a manipulating, cold bastard!"

"_Do not say that about Aizen-taichou_!" Hinamori screams, glaring daggers through me. "I will not permit this kind of talk about hi –"

"I will say what I want about that bastard," I interrupt. "Look at this!" Just then, I remember my little talk with my Inner Hollow about her stupid little strike, but in my head, she nods in approval, her arms crossed smugly over her chest, and she allows me to summon my mask. I whip the thing onto my face, and Hinamori yelps in horror. I rip the mask off my face. "Aizen did this to me! And look where it got me! Soul Society tried to fuckin' kill me 'cause o' him!"

"Im-impossible," Hinamori breathes, her voice barely a whisper. "Aizen-taichou would never do that. N-never."

"His name is not Aizen-taichou, Hinamori." I whisk my head towards the door. Hitsugaya walks into our room, wearing a sober expression on his face. He regards me with a knowing glance and turns to face his best friend. "Aizen Sousuke has relinquished that title long ago."

"Sh-Shiro-chan?" Hinamori squeaks. I sense betrayal in her voice and the growing fury beneath her skin.

"Hinamori," Hitsugaya says smoothly. "You need to let go of him. He's tried to do harm to you multiple times already. Isn't that enough to convince you that he doesn't have any concern for you at all?"

"No," Hinamori insists, "he would never."

"I've had a long-runnin' grudge 'gainst Aizen," I say. "I would know that he'd most definitely brainwash ya –"

"I am not brainwashed!" Hinamori bellows.

"Wait." Hitsugaya holds up a hand. "There _is_ one thing she is right about."

"Well, what?" I demand.

He sighs heavily. "It's not Aizen's fault that she is in this hospital. It's mine."

"Shiro-chan . . ." Hinamori doesn't look at him.

But I'm flat-out pissed now. I jab a finger at the midget. "No, it isn't! He prompted ya t'hurt her! Aizen did this same bullshit tactic t'me a hundred years ago. He Hollowfied me, made me hurt my friends! Yeah, I sure drew blood. Yeah, I admit I hurt 'em! But in the long run, I never blamed myself for the entirety of it! It was that bastard Aizen fer conspirin' beneath the Gotei 13! He was the fuckin' framer o' all this!"

"Stop this at once!" Hinamori snarls, advancing towards me with her hands clenched tight. I brace myself for a fight. "I loved Aizen-taichou! He cared for me! He was a father to me!"

Before Hinamori can land a first blow, Hitsugaya flash-steps between us, blocking us from one another with his unsheathed Zanpakuto. "Stop, Hinamori. You can't think like this." His voice is level but it brims with emotion. His eyes are exceptionally cold. "Aizen is a criminal. You need to stop."

Hinamori's eyes widen. Her hands shake involuntarily as she points to both of us. "You two, my friends . . . How can you abondon me like this."

Hitsugaya lowers his sword slightly. "We're not abandoning you. We're just showing you the right path."

"The right path is –" Hinamori suddenly lurches and coughs out a thick phlegm onto the ground that is covered in a red substance that can only be blood. Hitsugaya immediately steps forward, but Hinamori shoves him aside and proclaims one name.

"Aizen-taichou!"

She clutches her heart, convulses, and collapses to the ground, unmoving.

"Hinamori!" Hitsugaya and I shout at the same time. I let him handle Hinamori's unconscious body as I rush to the nearby wall phone and dial.

"Hey, we need a nurse!" I blather, my words jumbled. The speaker on the other end asks me to repeat. "No time! We've got an emergency right now! Room 112! Physical Rehabilitation! Hinamori Momo's just collapsed, unconscious! What the hell – just get here right now!"


	14. Keep Your Eyes Open

**A/N: Hey everybody, school's out, and it's time to write, write, and write! I'd like to have about two to three updates a week (if that makes you all happy), so I'll be working my butt off. Plus, I'll keep my writing in shape for when school comes up again. Yay. Now THIS is where the action starts, all you anxious readers. It's just the beginning, but we're out of the exposition now. Fasten your seat belts, guys. This is gonna get rough.**

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><p>Chapter Fourteen – Keep Your Eyes Open<p>

Hitsugaya has a number of pet peeves. His Lieutenant had always chided him for that, claiming if he were "always pissed off at something in life, he'd die an old geezer that parents would tell their kids to stay away from." Henceforth, Matsumoto had set herself out to bring the "awesome" things into his life, in hopes of raising his spirits and turning him into "a cheerful youngster." He had assigned her extra paperwork duty; her idea of "awesome" was bringing in the booze and distributing it to every member of the Division at midnight, drinking a toast to her Captain's growth and health, out of all things. She'd thought he'd stop growing, for goodness sake! He snorts, recalling the crazy memory. One of these days, he's going to have to put Matsumoto on strict rehab again, but he's well aware that it's fruitless. Old habits die hard, as they say.

But his Lieutenant was true about one thing: something always did piss him off. In fact, Hitsugaya can probably write an entire book, enlisting each of his pet peeves along with a detailed explanation as to why that certain thing makes him vent his spleen.

Around the top of his list: Kurosaki Ichigo. That bastard was arrogant and reckless. He'd charge headfirst into a fight without any plan or strategy and miraculously come out – victorious. That bothered Hitsugaya to no end. How does he manage such improvisation when he's practically driven to an edge? It also remains a mystery along with why the Substitute Shinigami could never acknowledge Hitsugaya as a Captain. Insisting on "Hey, Toshiro!" all day long and tramping around Soul Society with that enormous Zanpakuto hefted haughtily over his shoulder. Despite that, Hitsugaya respected the human and even considered him a friend. Countless times, they've relied on one another, and they've seemingly forged a strong camaraderie. He's missed the old asshole.

Another one of his pet peeves is the operating light above an ER. He can't stand it. It glares at him, red and accusing, as if blaming him for something. Hitsugaya fights the urge to whip out his Zanpakuto and cleave the light into two – but he firmly refrains himself. He's not a reckless idiot like Kurosaki. He is a calm, reserved Shinigami who actually thinks things through before acting. But that light is like a dungeon dragon, standing between him and Hinamori who fights for life inside. He desperately wants to help her, but that stupid light stands in the way.

"No one comes in until the light is off," Unohana had asserted. "We need no disturbance whilst operating on Hinamori-san." The warning was particularly intended for Sarugaki.

Hitsugaya casts a glance beside him. In the waiting room, three seats away from his own on the row of hospital chairs facing the ER, Sarugaki sits, arms crossed tightly over her chest, fixing the operating light with a glare of silent fury. I'm not the only one anxious, he muses. It just occurs to him that this Sarugaki Hiyori is just like Kurosaki. She is one who'd leap up and strangle that pestilential light, perhaps gnaw it off the wall and stomp on it until it breaks into fragments of wire and plastic. She's that impulsive.

"Alright, that's it," the blonde lifts herself up from her chair, cracking her knuckles like a boxer.

"What?" Hitsugaya blinks. He watches Sarugaki position herself directly in front of the door of the ER. She places her hands on her hips and looks up at the light.

"I'm tearin' this fucker down," she states plainly.

"Wait, what?" Hitsugaya scrambles to his feet. Were his predictions of this girl seriously true? That she'd actually develop the longing to attack an inanimate object? He is not sure whether to be satisfied that he forecast her correctly or flat-out confused that she adhered to his impromptu prediction. Before Sarugaki can make the first move, he puts a hand on her shoulder. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Get off o' me!" the blonde snarls, ripping away from his hold. Hitsugaya instinctively withdraws his hand to his sword – no, what is he thinking? He's in a _hospital_. He takes a deep breath, recomposing himself, and releases the grip on his Zanpakuto. _Stay calm, cool, and collected_. Sarugaki grits her teeth in frustration. "That damned piece o' plastic was pissin' me off so much! Just lemme get a go at it!"

"And disrupt the medical procedures that we're depending on to save Hinamori's life?" he reasons grimly. Sarugaki falters, and Hitsugaya continues, "Unohana strictly told us to not cause any disturbances. It's best if we stay quiet."

Sarugaki mutters a rude expletive under her breath before slumping back into her chair. She shoots the operating light, which still glares red, a last grimace and lets out a sigh of exasperation. "Damn it."

Hitsugaya chooses not to respond and examines the rows of stitching on the sleeve of his shikahusho for the twentieth time. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches the Visored girl impatiently tap her foot against the floor. About five minutes pass and he's counted up to two hundred fifty little stitches to the tempo of Sarugaki's tapping. The light above the door has not changed, as expected.

"Hey." Sarugaki suddenly stops tapping her foot and turns to face Hitsugaya with a serious look in her eyes. Hitsugaya regards her coolly. "I just wanna say that . . ." Her voice trails off. She bites her bottom lip, as if thinking about how to continue. Finally, she speaks again, "I just wanna say that I'm sorry."

"For what?" Hitsugaya says warily. There's no telling where this conversation will go, and he simply wants to be on the safe side.

The blonde scowls. "Don't make me say it again, dumbass! I'm sorry fer buggin' Hinamori so much. If it weren't fer my . . . alright, I'll say it, _stupid_ words about Aizen, she wouldn't be all stressed out and be screwed up right now." She winces and turns away, obviously embarrassed.

Hitsugaya widens his eyes in surprise. The apology, frankly, caught him off guard; he'd never expecting a person of Sarugaki's character to find the guts and admit to her actions – even though she'd seemingly regretted apologizing afterwards. He has a newfound respect for the Visored – just a grain, but nonetheless much more respect than he had for her not too long ago. He nods. "Don't worry about it. Someone was going to have to tell her the truth about Aizen sometime or later."

Sarugaki chews on her lip, deep in thought, before murmuring, "I just don't get it, though."

"Get what?"

"Why she's so frickin' attached to that asshole. I mean, it's kinda hard not to realize that Aizen's a bad guy." She narrows her eyes at Hitsugaya. "Not to be rude, but is she mental?"

He exhales deeply and ponders for a moment. "And I hate to admit it, but when it comes to Aizen," he shakes his head, "there's no telling what she'll do." He recalls a couple of dark memories: the chamber of the Central 46, the Winter War. A tremor of apprehension courses through his system like a plague; he clenches his teeth. "Aizen was her Captain when was still with the Fifth Division." He notices that the blonde perks up at those words. "Ever since she entered the Academy and Aizen came in for a demonstration, she's been all over him, always talking about him when she came home, blathering about how she's going to join his Division. She practically worked herself to death, honing her skills to be Lieutenant-level. Once she reached Lieutenant, she grew really attached to Aizen. He was her idol, her savior, and her dream. And numerous times, he's hurt her – but she just keeps holding on. If she keeps this up, she'll go crazy."

"What's more, that bastard ain't dead yet," Sarugaki says quietly. "It's hard to sleep, knowin' that."

"Yeah."

"If I were the Central 46, I'd have killed 'im the second I'd the chance," she proclaims. "I'd lop his head off an' take sweet, sweet revenge on that dick."

Hitsugaya doesn't answer. He'd be going into confidential matters if this conversation went any further. Aizen's current status must not be disclosed with anybody, according to Yamamoto. Yet he agrees with Sarugaki. In his opinion, it was a dumbass decision not to immediately eliminate Aizen Sousuke; he's too dangerous to let live in Soul Society, let alone the universe. But he is an arsenal of information, just as valuable as he is dangerous.

There is a blinking above them, and the light sudden flickers off. Sarugaki immediately leaps to her feet, rushing to the shaded windows of the doors, trying to peer into the ER. Hitsugaya's heart hammers in his chest. This is it. In a few minutes, Unohana is going to walk out of that room with the verdict. He does not join Sarugaki by the door, staying anchored to his chair, trying his best to stay calm, but inside, his will screams to be let out, to barge into that damned ER, and to drag his best friend out of the dark, dusky room. About five minutes pass and no one has exited the emergency room.

"Goddamnit, get outta there, Hinamori!" Sarugaki groans, about to pound on the door, but after a second thought, drops her fist to her side. She sighs and plops down into the seat directly beside Hitsugaya. Alarmed by his closeness to the temperamental Visored, Hitsugaya sucks in a breath. Although they are on slightly better relations as opposed to earlier this month, he and the Sarugaki are not necessarily _friends_. More rather, they're acquaintances. Nevertheless, he relaxes and tries to push aside the thought.

Sarugaki makes a massive deal of bending over, tugging off a yellow flip-flop, and scrutinizing it with meticulous care. The thing is battered, probably several years old, its straps weathered down to narrow cords. The soles are thin to the point of disappearing altogether. Sarugaki stares fixatedly at the old flip-flop for another moment. She shrugs, and without warning, swings back her arm and using vile force, whacks Hitsugaya upside the head with the shoddy shoe. He chomps down on his tongue so hard to stop from yelping that warm, metallic-tasting blood quickly gushes into his mouth.

"What the hell was that for!" he hisses, whisking around to face Sarugaki, seething with fury. That was uncalled for, the attack.

Sarugaki inspects a nail and shrugs. "Can't help it. I was gettin' real pissed at this 'cause Unohana said that when the light's off, Hinamori comes out, but it's been five fuckin' minutes, and we haven't seen anythin'."

"That doesn't mean you can spontaneous assault a Captain! I can have you arrested for that!"

"Blah, blah, blah," the impudent Visored drones. Hitsugaya's bottom left eyelid twitches. Sarugaki slips her flip-flop back onto her foot and hops to her feet. "I was gettin' pissed like I said, so I had to hit the nearest, most convenient thing to me, and you happened t'be right in front o' me."

"That doesn't make any sense at all!"

"'Course it does, ya dumbass. Would you've rather I've destroyed that light?"

Before he can craft up a retort, the ER door opens, and Unohana with her entourage of nurses file out, pushing a rolling bed holding an unmoving Hinamori.

"She all right?" Sarugaki demands. Hitsugaya follows closely behind her, edging to see Hinamori's face.

Unohana turns to regard them. To Hitsugaya's surprise, she smiles. "Hinamori-san is doing perfectly fine."

"Seriously?" It takes a moment for him to realize that he spoke simultaneously with Sarugaki; much to his embarrassment, he turns away.

"Yes," Unohana replies. They turn around a corner, heading into the Rehabilitation ward. "Hinamori Momo's condition is an enigma to us. It seems she has gone into cardiac arrest – she has shown all the symptoms – but after about seven minutes of standard Kido treatment, she has miraculous been revived. We did not apply shock treatment at all. We were preparing to, in order to restart her heart, but she managed to sustain herself."

"That's great," Hitsugaya says immediately.

"But the strangest thing is . . . she is perfectly healthy at this moment," Unohana continues. "Her heart rate is normal, blood pressure fine. It is as if she never went through any cardiac arrest at all – in fact, she is simply sleeping right now; she is not unconscious, if you have presumed that."

"Wait, so I can just slap her, and she'll wake up?" Sarugaki blurts out.

"Technically, yes, but I would not recommend that." Unohana gives the Visored one of her "looks." Instantly getting the message, Sarugaki cringes and continues walking. "We are going to return Hinamori-san to her Physical Rehabilitation, but we will place her on a strict routine in the case that something like this recurs."

This all seems too good to be true. A miraculous recovery like this? Hitsugaya can't shake the thought out of his head. Although he is more than relieved that Hinamori is okay, something in the back of his mind nudges him to stay alert. They return to the Physical Rehabilitation room, where the nurses transfer Hinamori back to her bed. Unohana leaves Sarugaki a list of regulations Hinamori must abide by for the next week in order to ensure a safe recovery.

"I am trusting you on this, Hiyori-san," Unohana asserts. "I will leave an attendant to check in once or twice a day, but aside that, I am relying on you to make sure that Hinamori-san lives up to these procedures."

Sarugaki nods her head vigorously, clutching the paper slip protectively.

* * *

><p>Sure been a rough day, eh? Blow-outs, miraculous recoveries, the fact that Hinamori forgot our scuffle – it's craziness. I won't be surprised if someone comes in with a jackhammer and pounds that Hanataro kid's head into the wall, trying to replicate Mount Rushmore in the Human World.<p>

Hinamori woke up about five minutes after Unohana left because apparently, I was "too noisy." Hey, it ain't my fault. When midgets piss me off, I'm noisier than Rose's Flying-V. Anyway, Hinamori was all discombobulated after going through the operation, so she got our names mixed up and whatnot, but after about half an hour, she regained her landing and was actually competent to carry on a conversation. Knowing that I was going to face this sooner or later, I immediately launched into an apology for disparaging Aizen – which was painful, to say the least – but Hinamori strangely shook her head.

"You opened my eyes to something I never expected, Hiyori-san," she interrupted with a smile. "And I thank you for that."

I only responded with an uncertain grimace.

On the other hand, I noticed how Hitsugaya did not speak much to Hinamori during his visit. He just stood there, arms cross, observing our interchange. Whenever Hinamori spoke to him, though, he would respond with a one or two-word answer and go back to standing there solemnly. Now that kind of ticked me off a bit. He's her friend – heck, her best friend. Shouldn't he be less of a bastard and talk to Hinamori a bit? Maybe do a little more than only asking how she's doing and going into silent-mode? It boggles my mind, that midget.

Hitsugaya left about half an hour ago, and it's about eleven o' clock in the evening. The stars are twinkling in the sky, the moon glimmering apathetically, and I'd say it's about time to hit the sack. But before I settle myself in my pillows and sheets, I sit in the dark of the room, nonplussed. For some reason, despite the Hinamori's surgical miracle, I'm feeling a bit . . . apprehensive. It's like I'm sailing on calm seas, but something's telling me that a storm's going to appear any second. I turn towards Hinamori, a resting lump of covers breathing quietly in her bed.

"Hey, Hinamori?" I say suddenly.

There's a pause. Then she answers, "Yeah?"

"Can ya answer a question fer me?"

Another pause. "Uh, sure."

I stare at the shadowed ceiling, at the intricate shapes and figures made by the hiding light. "Why aren't ya mad at me?" It's an honest question that I've been itching to ask for the last couple of hours but haven't found the will to.

Hinamori coughs. "Wh-why would I be mad at you?"

I rack my brain for the concise words that'll obviate explanation, but my search is fruitless. If only there is a single magic word that'll carry the point across whenever you're fucked up. Now that'd make things a lot for easier. I manage, "Don't give me that . . . I . . . dissed your idol –"

"Hiyori-san," Hinamori interrupts with a hint of exasperation. "I already told you to forget it. The past is the past. You opened my eyes to something new, and I'm not mad at you at all for doing so. I'm sure we're both tired . . ." Her voice trails off. "Let's just get some sleep, okay?" Without another word, she pulls the covers over her head and drifts into a soft snoozing.

I sigh. I'm such a bitch. But slowly, I find my eyelids getting heavier, drooping lower. The shadows on the ceiling dance more lethargically, and my body is falling into sleep, despite my mind's protest.

* * *

><p>"Hey, boss."<p>

I'm dreaming again. This time, I'm in my subconscious mind, sitting on a sleek, black marble platform overlooking a stretch of cumulonimbus clouds rumbling softly below, floating in perpetually in a gray overcast sky. It's not that damned District 85. Thank goodness.

My blurry vision clears, and I see the bitch, my Hollow, sauntering up to me. She mockingly salutes me, giving me a lopsided grin, and spits over the edge of the platform. "Hey."

"What do ya want?" I growl. That's when I notice _him_ there. Kubikiri Orochi. Standing right next to the bitch. Instinctively, I step back. No. "Why're _you_ here?" I demand, pointing at my Zanpakuto's materialized spirit.

Kubikiri Orochi stands tall, at 6'6'', dressed in simple dark gray robes lined with navy and white trimming. He has the strength of a wrestler, muscle rippling across his limbs, but he is still lean. Dark, wavy hair covers most of his face, slightly masking his severe, stormy blue eyes, reaching down to shoulders, and he has a light speckling of stubble across his chin. It's been years since I've seen him.

"Hiyori," he says in his deep, rustic tone. He beckons me forward, and unwillingly, I comply. "It's been a while."

"No shit," I mutter.

Kubikiri Orochi puts a firm hand on my shoulder and looks down on me unpityingly. "You have neglected me, Hiyori."

"Ya could've said that sooner," I reply bitterly. "I dunno, maybe 'bout a hundred an' twenty years ago or so?"

"Why have you neglected me?" he asks regally. My Hollow, behind him, crosses her pale arms smugly. "I am not a melee Zanpakuto."

"You know the answer to that!" I shoot back fiercely, bristling. "You know perfectly well why I don't resort t'ya! Yer dangerous, Kubikiri Orochi!"

"That ain't the answer," my Hollow cuts in, shoving my Zanpakuto aside roughly. "You's just _scared_."

I don't answer because it's all true. I never use my sword's ability; I've passed it off as a melee weapon for so long, I've practically forgotten how to use it.

Kubikiri Orochi regards me knowingly; he's read my mind. "I understand, Hiyori. Despite that, you have used me well as a melee Zanpakuto."

The three of us – the bitch, my Zanpakuto, and I – stand wordlessly, the crackling of thunder beneath us, an infinite gray sky above us.

"Well," the bitch says finally. "I'm here just t'tella ya that ya've got t'make the final decision now. Are ya gonna stay wi' that Hinamori Momo or not?"

"Yes!" I say forcefully. "She's a friend!"

My Hollow gives me a look of . . . sympathy? She pats Kubikiri Orochi heartily on the shoulder. "She's all yers, buddy."

"Wait, what?" I object. What the hell is this?

"I'm out on this. Yer gonna have to rely on him –" my Hollow points to my Zanpakuto " – when yer fightin'. My contract's over until ya bag that Hinamori chick."

"No, I can't do tha–"

"Too bad." My Hollow begins to disappear. "So sad."

"Bitch!" I scream. "Ya fuckin' bitch!"

The last thing I see is Kubikiri Orochi giving me a nostalgic, lonesome look before turning away. And I wake up to feel the cold draft of an open window and to see a dark-cloaked figure wearing her hair in a distinctive bun leaping out in the night. I leap to my feet. Hinamori's bed is impeccably made, and it's _empty_.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hey everyone, how'd you all like it? Feel free to leave some feedback and be expecting an update soon (one or two days, I hope). I've already got the next chapter written up, so who knows? Want it tomorrow? It's up to you guys, just let me know! :)**


	15. Fireworks in the Sky

**A/N: As requested by a number of you all, I've updated really early. I absolutely loved writing this chapter. Please, please, please enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Chapter Fifteen – Fireworks in the Sky<p>

Momo double-checks that her Zanpakuto is tightly secured on her belt, pausing on the roof of an unknown building. Aizen-taichou told her to bring it.

"Tobiume," he had said in his gentle, warm voice, gesturing towards the red-hilted sword. "She is a beauty. Bring her to me."

Willingly, she had complied. A quick stop to the Fourth Division storage room to borrow a set of darker clothing, a box of provisions and medical supplies, and a cloth satchel and she was all set to go. Frankly, she is pleased. Overwhelming the higher-level Fourth Division members – especially the Third Seat Iemura and Lieutenant Kotetsu – was an easy, if not _effortless_, task for her. A quick snap of the fingers instantly summoned a useful Kidou spell that left the two Shinigami unconscious. Aizen-taichou was true to his word when he told her that trick.

Momo can hear him whispering into her ear, edging her forward, towards the Black Ridge Gate and northeast. _Come to me, Hinamori-chan, come to me_. She sighs in relief; he is still with her, nestled amongst her thoughts, guiding her, aiding her. It gives Momo a sense of safety – it always has – to know that Aizen-taichou is so close to her. She continues moving forward on the roofs of Seireitei.

After another four minutes of flash-step traveling, she passes the Tenth Division barracks. The lights are still on in the Captain's office. Rangiku is probably still doing paperwork, and chances are, Toshiro is still in there, berating his "half-assed" Lieutenant. A bitter smile crosses her face, and Momo chants softly, "Bakudou No. 26, Kyokkou." A light chill runs through her body, and she instantly feels freer from having her presence and reiatsu masked. She watches the shadows in the office window pause for a moment – have they detected her? But the smaller shadow returns to whatever he is doing, and the larger shadow does so as well. Momo turns away.

It will take another twenty or so minutes to reach the North Gate, where she will have to subdue the enormous guardian, Danzomaru, but that will be a piece of cake. She loves the fact that she is so powerful now, all thanks to him, Aizen-taichou. She is forever indebted to that man; he changed her life, and he helped her to no end. The minute she realized that about two months before the mad invasion of the substitute Shinigami, Kurosaki Ichigo, she silently pledged to serve under Aizen Sousuke for as long as she lived.

The warm gusts threaten to throw back her hood and reveal her face to Seireitei and although she is invisible, Momo still readjusts her cloak. She cannot leave a single trace – even a strand of hair is detrimental to her tasks.

There is a sound of a foot scraping a roof tile behind her, and immediately, Momo whisks around, Zanpakuto unsheathed. She internally curses herself for being too careless and overconfident. Aizen-taichou will never approve of this. He may forgive her, but he will still be disappointed. The thought of that wakes her up.

"Stop right there." A familiar voice rough with a Kansai accent. A dark figure stands before Momo dressed in a Shinigami shikahusho, hefting a sealed Zanpakuto over a shoulder. The cloud finishes passing across the moon, allowing light to reveal the freckled face of Sarugaki Hiyori.

"Hiyori-san," Momo says quietly. "Why are you here?"

The blonde narrows her eyes. "That's my line." She stands in her spot, seething before, but much to Momo's surprise, she takes on a gentler tone, "Hinamori, ya just went through some harrowin' operation procedures. Runnin' around outside, ain't gonna do you any good. Come back to the hospital."

_Running around?_ Momo stifles a laugh. If only. She knew she should've employed a spell on the little Visored girl. Perhaps Hiyori isn't a deep sleeper after all. Momo tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and grips Tobiume readily. "Sorry, Hiyori-san, but it looks like you're going to have to turn around."

"Why?" the Visored demands, stepping forward. "What the hell are ya doin' out so late? It's fuckin' two in the mornin'!"

"Before I answer your question," Momo says carefully. "Will you answer mine?"

Hiyori's eyes widen. "Sure, I guess."

"Actually, I have two," Momo revises. "Firstly, why are you wearing that shikahusho. Don't you hate us?"

The shock on Hiyori's face is hysterical. "How did ya –"

"How did I find that out?" Momo finishes for her. "You aren't a quiet person, Hiyori-san. When I hear you condemning Soul Society for what it's done to you, I can hear you loud and clear. _And_," she adds with a smile, "Aizen-taichou told me all about you and your friends."

"_Aizen_?" She watches the look of transformed horror on Hiyori's face in amusement. Aizen-taichou was right. The Visoreds really are scared of him.

"Answer my question," Momo cuts in before Hiyori can speak. "We have a deal: you answer mine, I answer yours."

Hiyori takes a moment to register to the darker atmosphere, taking a deep breath and tensing her sword hand. "I know that yer headin' somewhere – unsafe – an' I thought that . . . I'd bring ya back on terms as friends 'stead of what we really are: Shinigami and Visored."

"That's awfully sweet of you." Momo inspects the scratched guard of her Zanpakuto. That needs to be fixed. "Now, for my next question: how did you find me. I'm currently under a Bakudo spell, so you should not be able to see me, much less, speak to me."

"Let's not get into that," Hiyori says hastily, but Momo cuts her off by slashing Tobiume in the air. Gritting her teeth, the blonde stabs her sword into a roof tile and crosses her arms. "There ya have it."

"Your sword?"

"Its ability. It creates electrical storms that cover a wide area." Hiyori unwillingly gestures to the diminishing clouds in the sky. Stars are starting to reappear by the minute. "And within that wide area, I know where everythin' is. Every life form and spirit. Air lockin'."

"May I ask its name?"

Hiyori does not answer.

"Do you not trust me, Hiyori-san? I thought we were friends."

Hiyori bites her bottom lip. "Kubikiri Orochi."

"Ah, as in the slayer of the great eight-head and eight-tailed serpent, Yamato no Orochi. The embodiment of the sword of the storm god, Susanoo, in its sealed form, am I correct?"

"Ya sure know yer shit, Hinamori," the Visored says bitterly. "Yeah, it's got some roots in that mythology crap, I guess."

"I must say, it must be quite powerful," Momo muses, eyeing the sword. It seems like any other Zanpakuto. Medium length blade, oval guard (adorned with hearts?), and red hilt. But names have their value and should not be underestimated, Aizen had warned her.

"I dunno," Hiyori says. "What I _do _know, however, is that if ya don't come back, yer gonna see how powerful it can get."

"Is that a warning I hear?" Momo replies.

"Shaddap, you've had yer two questions already. My turn." Hiyori yanks her Zanpakuto out of the roof and points the blade directly at Momo. "Looks like I actually more than one question also. One is: what the hell are ya doin'? The other: why're ya such a bitch all of a sudden? It's like ya lost yer heart or somethin'. And lastly, what in the world is Aizen doin' to ya?"

"That is a lot of questions, Hiyori-san."

"We had a deal," the blonde reminded her.

"Of course." Momo ponders for a moment. "Your first question, 'what the hell am I doing?' Serving my Captain of course. He has assigned me a mission, and I am simply adhering to my orders."

Hiyori's tone is cold. "Your _Captain_? As in _Aizen_?"

"Yes. He will always be my Captain," Momo says vindictively. She feels a gush of pride when she utters those words, much to her excitement. "As for your second question of what Aizen-taichou is doing to me, he is helping me find a purpose in life. All this time, when he has been away, locked underground for a 'crime' he has committed, I have been slowly forgetting him. But you, Hiyori-san, opened my eyes again by reminding me of who he is. I had a 'heart attack,' but in reality, it was Aizen-taichou coming to me in a dream, begging for my help. That was when he told me about you Visoreds and what disgraces you are."

"Disgraces!" Hiyori explodes. "That bastard's brainwashed you, Hinamori! What did he tell you?"

"Ah, just the usual," Momo answers lightly. "About how you, the new Captain I will never accept, Hirako Shinji, and Urahara Kisuke manipulated him to appear to the officials that Aizen-taichou was the one who committed _Urahara's_ crime." She spits the former Twelfth Division Captain's name with spite. "Aizen-taichou told me the truth about Urahara. He plans to condemn us all, using his intellect for evil and that only –"

"_That is bullshit._" Hiyori is shaking with anger, her left eye twitching involuntarily. Her teeth are clenched together tightly, her protuberant fang digging into her lip. _Oh, Hiyori-san, you always try to keep a tight leash on your anger, don't you? But in the end, it just lets loose anyway_. Momo scoffs. The blonde shakes her head. "Hinamori, just cut the crap. Yer gonna get yer ass back into that hospital –" She juts her finger towards the distance behind her. " – _right now_."

"I'm afraid I can't," Momo sighs, readying her sword. "I've answered all of your questions and revealed classified information. I'm going to have to eliminate you now. Snap, Tobiume!" Her sword lengthens and two prongs materialize on either side of the blade. She regards Hiyori with a sad expression. "But honestly, I've enjoyed your company, Hiyori-san. You're quite a lively person." She whips her Zanpakuto back and flings forth an enormous fireball, blazing as bright as a sun.

Immediately, Hiyori's voice rings out, "Chop cleanly, Kubikiri Orochi!" Her sword changes into an enormous cleaver with a serrated edge, and she blocks the attack, wincing at the heat of the fire. "Dammit, Hinamori! Stop it right now! We don't want to attract so much attention!" She is right. All around them, lights are beginning to flicker on in the windows, spurred by the sudden action on the rooftops.

Momo shrugs. "You're right. Let's just finish this. Hadou No. 88 –" Hiyori yells something and backs away frantically. " – Hiryuu –" The blonde is searching in the sky for something. She bangs a fist against the side of her head, as if arguing with herself. " – Gekizoku Shinten Raihou!" An annihilating explosion of vivid blue electricity surges from Momo's hands with a thundering roar, devours a wide-eyed Hiyori. Momo drops to one knee, panting for breath. That was 80-level Kidou spell executed without an incantation; she would've never managed that without Aizen-taichou's help. In her mind, he applauds, encouraging her warmly. Momo flexes her fingers. "Aizen-taichou. Your power is magnificent." She takes one last look at a fallen Hiyori laying defeated and most likely dead on the rooftop, presses her lips together, and escapes towards the Black Ridge Gate, preparing an long incantation on her lips for the unsuspecting guardian soon to be obliterated.

"This is the last time," my Hollow sneers in my mind as my mask slips away from my face and crumbles to dust on the roof tiles.

* * *

><p>That attack was lethal. I barely had time to put on my mask and surround myself with reiatsu of matching power. I'm lucky that my spirit power's affiliated with lightning and storms. Anyone else would've died instantly. I watch Hinamori slip away into the darkness. She's disappeared.<p>

Suddenly, I feel woozy. I can't think. I'm covered in . . . red stuff. Blood? Dust? Feathers? They all look the same. Sticky. Shit. Gross. My eyesight too – it's getting blurry. Shit. Gotta tell midget. He her best buddy.

Feet hurt like crap. Can't do shunpo. Tenth Division not too far away. Quarter of mile maybe. Everything hurts. Ouch. Fuck.

Lotsa commotion. Shinigami investigate scene. Too fucking noisy. Can't think anymore.

Most damage in spleen. Lower abdomen. Close to where bifurcated. Bad memories. Painful.

Tenth Division here. Damn. Why doors so hard to open? Doorways are easier. Just walk through them. Easy. Office building. Shit. Another door. Gotta open it.

Hinamori. Didn't answer. Question. Why she such a _bitch_ now?

* * *

><p>"What was that boom?" Matsumoto inquires from her paperwork.<p>

Hitsugaya raises his head wearily. "What is it, Matsumoto?"

"I just heard a loud boom outside!" his Lieutenant explains fervently. "What was that?"

"Zaraki?" Hitsugaya shrugs. "I thought you were used to his nightly escapades by now." There is a soft sound at the door. A knock? He gestures to Matsumoto who hurries to the door and opens it.

A bloodied, torn Sarugaki hobbles in, dragging an enormous cleaver – her Zanpakuto. She stares insanely at Hitsugaya, blinking blood out of her eyes, before uttering weakly, "Shit. Hinamori. Aizen. Gone." The blonde collapses to the ground.

"Hinamori is in trouble!" Hitsugaya leaps out of his chair, grabbing Hyourinmaru. "What happened?" Sarugaki does not answer. Her eyes shift towards the window. All of a sudden, he can't breathe anymore. "Hinamori's gone."

Matsumoto dives down to Sarugaki's side. "Taichou! What are we going to do about _her_, though? She's in horrible shape!"

Hitsugaya regards the Visored. "Matsumoto I need you to listen to me very carefully."

"Yes!" comes the sharp reply.

Hitsugaya takes a deep breath. Got to stay calm – that's what's most important right now. "Use Kidou to keep Sarugaki sustaining life. We need to keep this scene as quiet and undercover as possible. Once you've got her stabilized, transport her to the Fourth Division immediately – don't use a hell butterfly, take her yourself. After that, I'll need you to take over the Division for me."

"What?"

He looks away, towards the window where squadrons of Shinigami swarm to the explosion site to investigate. "I am going to desert."

Matsumoto shakes her head in disbelief. "No, that's crazy. Taichou! What in the world are you thinking?"

"Someone needs to go after her," Hitsugaya says quietly. "Blame my disappearance as desertion."

"No, you'll be a criminal like when –"

"That time, I made a mistake, Matsumoto. I didn't inform you at all," he cuts in. "This is an emergency. Matsumoto," his voice grows softer, almost to a whisper, "please do this as a favor for me. I need to do this."

He watches his Lieutenant chew on her lip, eyes jerking back and forth between Sarugaki's various injuries. Finally, she looks at him with confident eyes. "Alright."

"Thank you –"

"No, Taichou, thank _you_. For telling me before you take off."

Hitsugaya nods. He flash-steps outside and searches the air for a hint of his best friend's reiatsu. _Hinamori, what the hell's gotten into you?_

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><p><strong>AN: Well, how did you like it? This is getting fun, writing action and all! Please leave some feedback! :)**_  
><em>


	16. The Obsidian Ritual

**A/N: Hey you all, this took forever to write, so I hope you enjoy. I was listening to Linkin Park's new song, "LOST IN THE ECHO," and some slow, sweet Coldplay tunes while writing this, so if the mood of this piece is a bit wobbly, I apologize for that! When I do my final edits, I'll pay A LOT of attention to this chapter. Anyway, enjoy!**

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><p>Chapter Sixteen – The Obsidian Ritual<p>

Danzomaru, the guardian of the Black Ridge Gate, lies unconscious in a pool of his own blood before the very gate he swore to protect. A terrible gash in his chest, turning black from possible infection, eats at his dwindling life, oblivious to the giant's agonized grimace frozen onto his face. The two pieces of his great weapon sit abandoned several feet away, destroyed clean in half at the blade. Hitsugaya's eyes sweep back and forth across the scene. His head aches from gleaning the puzzle pieces of the disaster; this is all too confusing. He is sure that Danzomaru's defeat is beyond Hinamori's strength with Tobiume, for the guardian's thick, repellent armor is spoken of throughout Rukongai, rumored at the hearth to be almost indestructible. But his charred flesh, stinking through the atmosphere, and his smoldering axe have Hinamori's Zanpakuto written all over. Perhaps he has deeply underestimated his best friend, and immediately, Hitsugaya feels a pang of guilt claw at pit of his stomach. Maybe she employed Kido – a substantially powerful Hado – but, once again, he winces at the thought of downgrading her abilities. It just isn't feasible. Although Hinamori is renowned as a skilled Demon Arts practitioner, she only is a lieutenant, and only has the power of a lieutenant.

Hitsugaya sifts through the air for her reiatsu. It's there. Weak, but he can still track it. The fact that she must be using a Bakudo spell to mask her presence doesn't help at all on his mission, but after spending every minute of his childhood practically attached to her, he knows her spiritual energy like the back of his hand. Its texture is unique: a faint bubbling shrouded in an inviting warm, very suitable to her personality.

And that sensation earlier this evening – he was a fool to have waved it off. He was sitting in his office, scolding Matsumoto for her lackluster effort, as usual, when he sensed a snippet of that familiar bubbling. It was just a snippet, barely noticeable and evanescent that soon drowned in the concourse of spiritual energies buzzing amongst Seireitei. He'd foolishly called it on his nerves and disregarded it. A strong, acrid feeling boils within him, searing him for this disaster; if he'd only taken the time to investigate that hint of Hinamori, none of this would've happened.

Hitsugaya's mind shifts to the thought of Sarugaki, battered and near death, lugging herself onto his doorstep to bear the news. Based on what happened to Danzomaru, could Hinamori have been the cause of the Visored's hellish condition? He desperately tries to shake the thought out of his head, but all this evidence of fire, of Tobiume, of Hinamori's bubbling reiatsu is plain to see. This was the work of Hinamori's hands. He kneels down, scoops up a handful of charred rubble, remnants of the very gate Danzomaru swore to guard, and flings the black, crumbling debris back to the ground, cursing out his best friend's name with a bitter taste in his mouth. _Damn it, Hinamori!_

Taking a final sweep of the wreckage, Hitsugaya unsheathes his sword carefully. He locks onto Hinamori's weakening trail, and at maximum speed, flash-steps after her, refusing to let her bubbling reiatsu slip away. _What the hell, Bedwetter Momo…_

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><p>It comforts Momo to no end, knowing that Aizen-taichou is guiding her in her mind, directing her where to go. She flash-steps through the trees and bushes, blushing at her captain's comments of how her Shunpo has improved drastically since the last time he saw her. Aizen-taichou is the greatest gift she ever received. He can make her laugh on even the stormiest days, and she can collapse into his arms, soaking his haori with tears, with the safety of his hand patting her back in a smooth, steady rhythm.<p>

_Excellent work on that Hado, Hinamori-chan_, he says. She can feel him beaming down at her, his eyes twinkling with pride. _You have surpassed all the other lieutenants as to be able to execute such a powerful spell and still be able to travel at such speed and energy_.

A smile stretches across Momo's cheeks as she further flushes in embarrassment. "Th-thank you, Aizen-taichou!" Truth is, she still feels slightly winded by the level-90 Kido she performed on the guardian of the Black Ridge Gate, but with her captain's help, she managed to get through it without too much trouble. Momo looks down at her hand; she squeezes it into a tight fist, "Ai-Aizen-taichou?"

_Hm?_

"May I please ask you a question?" She sucks in a breath, awaiting his response. The last thing she wants to do is to offend her captain and lose his respect. She will rather take her own life than to commit such a heinous crime.

_Of course_, Aizen-taichou replies softly. _What would you like to know?_

The night sky is drowned in stars, and immediately, the memory of the night when he asked her to become his lieutenant pours back to Momo's mind. His kind words. Her acceptance. And when he proudly tied the lieutenant's badge around her arm, proclaiming her as the Fifth Division Lieutenant, she wanted to explode with glee. "Aizen-taichou…what am I to you?"

There is a pause. Momo waits in anticipation. Another two minutes pass before Aizen-taichou chuckles. _Hinamori-chan. You are everything to me. _Her eyes widen in surprise. She racks her brain for a respectful response, but her captain continues, _The reason why I bestowed upon you my abilities is because of your undying faith. When the entire Gotei 13 thought wrong of me, when they all repudiated my morals, only one person out of all remained faithful in me. And that was you, Hinamori Momo. You held onto what little hope there was for me to re-emerge – no, you grasped it. You grasped that hope, and I realized that you are paragon of the ideal subordinate. And I thank you for that, Hinamori-chan. Once I become free, we will show everyone the right of my morals, and may I ask_ you_ a question, my friend?_

"Of-of course!" Momo stammers, almost stumbling over a tree branch.

_Once I become free, will you be my right-hand subordinate? My accomplice? And…my student?_

"Your student?" Momo can't breath anymore. Oxygen has become completely alien to her lungs.

_Yes, my student. I shall show you the truth of what makes "power." Do you accept—_

"I do!" she blurts out. Immediately, she covers her mouth, whitening at her own rudeness. Shame spreads across her face like a plague, and she ducks her head, quickly squeaking, "I apologize, Aizen-taichou!"

_For what? Accepting my request? Thank you, Hinamori-chan. Thank you so much._

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><p>They reach their destination on time. The moon hangs high in the sky, casting an almost friendly glow over the lazy river swimming with energetic little tadpoles, wriggling their tails in a cheerful dance. Momo steps onto the edge of the bank, staring in awe at the curious creatures.<p>

_Are you ready, Hinamori-chan?_ Aizen asks. _You may opt out of this if you are uncomfortable with the task. I am asking a lot out of you to do this for me._

"Yes," Momo says, looking up at the pale moon. A light breeze tumbles across the forest, prompting the fallen cherry blossoms to dance in the night sky. The cherry trees lining the banks provide just the perfect scenery for the ritual. "I am ready to do this, Aizen-taichou."

_Let me repeat, this is the last chance. Are you set on your decision?_

"Yes," she repeats, self-assured. "I am set on my decision."

_Be careful_, her captain warns. _One slip of the words, one mispronunciation, and this spell will ultimately kill you. I will ask one last time: are you sure about doing this?_

"Anything to please you, Aizen-taichou," Momo answers. She straightens her posture and faces the river with confidence. "I've been sure that I want to serve ever since I first saw you at the Academy. This is my destiny."

_Very well. Please take caution_.

Heeding her captain's words, Momo slowly unsheathes her Zanpakuto. She holds it before her, upright, and inhales the sweet, warm air. She closes her eyes and begins reciting the poem. She begins meticulously, enunciating each word with utter care. Her shoulders are quivering uncontrollably, but she keeps her tone steady. Once she passes the first two stanzas, the words flow over her tongue, smooth as honey, and it gets easier. She relaxes and focuses on the meaning of the poem. Aizen-taichou took months to craft together the words and phrases that form the structure of the verses, making excellent time of his captivity. Before he decided to share it with her earlier today, he ran over it three hundred times, searching out the littlest problems and inconsistencies. At last, it was perfect. Aizen-taichou managed to describe the relationship between the moon and the river in a way no one else can ever fathom to replicate. His painstakingly developed lines, his cleverly crafted similes and metaphors, his overall message – culminates to the very last word.

Once the ultimate syllable escapes Momo's lips, she clutches the unsealed Tobiume with both hands and rams the blade straight through her chest, piercing her cardiac muscle and exiting cleanly through her back. A spray of blood dots the grassy ground.

The pain of the self-assault attacks seems painless at first, but in a fraction of a second, hell surges throughout her body like a wildfire. A rush of blood barrels up her throat, and Momo chokes; she can't breath. Even more blood gushes from her chest wound, spilling freely over her hands and her sword hilt. This is so nostalgic. The Winter War all over again. Getting stabbed. But she kicks herself to remain standing with devotion, despite her body's roar to buckle at the knees.

_This will only take fifteen seconds_, Aizen-taichou soothes. She trusts him; his word is the law. If he says it will take fifteen seconds, it will indeed take fifteen seconds. She imagines him running a hand through her hair. _Stay tough, Hinamori-chan._

Momo grits her teeth and counts the seconds. _Six, seven, eight. _Each second seems like a day; each millisecond an hour. Time seems to fluctuate. Some instances, it flies by without her even realizing – and at other times, it seems endless. _Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen!_ Her entire body convulses, and an agony overpowering all other physical pain erupts from her chest, invading the entire span of her nervous system, from her eyes to her toes. All five of her senses crash. Her sight shifts to a pitch black. Her hearing buzzes out to a static, soundless noise. She can no longer taste or smell the blood in her mouth and all over her clothing. But for one thing, she can't feel the pain anymore. It seems to have disappeared. It's time.

That shard in her heart, smaller as a breadcrumb, pushes the Zanpakuto out of Momo's body using its raw willpower. It is diminutive, almost nonexistent, but it packs unaccountable energy. Tobiume slides out of Momo's chest and clatters to the ground, completely coated a gleaming, wet red. The shard, using the open sword wound as an exit canal, forces its way out of its host's cardiac muscle and enters the spirit world. It floats, suspended in the air in an eerie light, a tender purple glow. It glows even brighter, bathing Momo's lifeless standing body in its brilliant light, and instantly, it erases all the evidence. Momo's wound heals, the flesh regenerates, filling up the hole in her chest, and life resurges into her system, her senses once again returning to their respective organs. The blood evaporates off her skin, her sword, and the nearby ground, disappearing into the night sky upon the shard's command. It's as if the ritual never happened. Momo's eyes flutter open. She holds out her hand, and the shard tumbles into her palm. It feels slightly warm like a freshly-baked loaf of bread. She gives in and falls to her needs, choking on wrecked, anguished sobs and hugging the tiny shard close to her heart, never to let it go.

_Excellent, simply excellent_, Aizen-taichou says quietly. Momo's quivering mouth turns up to a smile. She wipes away the tears rolling down her cheeks with her shikahusho sleeve. _Please retrieve Tobiume for me._ She obeys, crawling over the cool grass, no longer stained with her blood, to cradle her clean Zanpakuto. Her fingers wrap around Tobiume, and in an instant, the shard glows even brighter in her hand and fuses itself into her sword's hilt. _Once again, excellent work, Hinamori-chan. _She beams. _Now, you may activate _your_ subordinates_.

"S-subordinates?" Momo repeats. "I have subordinates?"

_They are special gifts for you, dear_, Aizen-taichou explains. _They are at your disposal, along with the powers I have granted you, to aid you on this journey. Release your Zanpakuto._

Momo nods. She grips Tobiume steadily. "Snap, Tobiume!" Five jets of flickering fire surge out of her sword, congealing into five gleaming figures much resembling enormous hell butterflies. Their brilliant wings are fire, blazing brightly in the night atmosphere like suns. Suddenly, they turn furiously on one another, snarling, snapping their glowing pincers.

_Tell them to stop_, Aizen-taichou suggests.

"St-stop!" Momo stammers. Immediately the figures cease their bickering, and one-by-one, they fall to the ground, as if bowing on their six clawed feet.

"Breathe, Hinamori-chan." That's right. She forgot to breathe. Inhaling a deep breathe of oxygen, she adheres to her Captain's order. Just like old times again, serving under Aizen-taichou, being the second-in-command of one of the most renowned Divisions of the Gotei 13. _And now_– She straightens up at the word of his next command. – _use your new power to eliminate _him. Momo raises her head to find the face of Toshiro staring at her with an expression of undisguised shock from the bushes.

* * *

><p>"Hinamori! What the <em>hell<em> were you doing to yourself?" Hitsugaya demands. If his eyes hadn't deceived him, he was positive that she just tried to take her own life, but something happened—something strange—that seemingly revived her and produced those _things_. He bursts out of the shelter of a thriving thicket of blackberry bushes. In an instant, the fiery beings, standing at least ten feet tall, flare their blazing wings and shield themselves before Hinamori, snarling menacingly. Hitsugaya's hand appears around the hilt of his Zanpakuto; he narrows his eyes. "And what are these things?"

Hinamori yields no answer. She stares at him bleakly with a look of surprise mixed with…anger? Her fingers clench white around her own sword, almost turning a sickly shade of dark purple. Her feet stiffen, positioned in a way that would allow her to bolt easily.

"What's the matter?" Hitsugaya asks, nodding towards her. An honest question. "You look more jittery than a trapped animal."

But her eyes, ringed with dark circles, stare through him, as if fixated on something that isn't entirely there. Hitsugaya carefully checks behind him—nothing of the unordinary, just trees and shrubbery—before redirecting his attention on her and the beasts circling around her. She seems focused, deep in concentration, chewing pensively on her bottem lip. And she nods once. "Understood."

Hitsugaya blinks and raises and eyebrow. "What?"

"Hitsugaya-kun," Hinamori says quietly. "I'd like to say something to you." She raises her Zanpakuto to eye level and turns it ninety degrees with a sharp snap of her wrist. A Senkaimon materializes along the banks of the river behind her.

"Hinamori, what are y—"

"It was fun being friends with you," she cuts in emotionlessly. Her tone is flat, monotonous—the antithesis of her typical expressive compassion for others. "You've been a wonderful companion back in the days when we were in Rukongai. However, I'm no longer affiliated with you anymore."

"What do you mean?" Hitsugaya says coolly. But inside, his heart races, sprinting laps inside of his chest like a jockey.

And Hinamori scoffs. The corner of her lip turns up in disdainful mockery, and she snorts. "It's simple, really. The next time we meet—that is, _if_ there is a next time—we will no longer be friends anymore. We will be enemies fighting for different causes."

Hitsugaya's eyes widen. "Enemies? Different causes? Wh-what the hell are you talking about?" he sputters. His mind immediately feels steep in a cold, dark premonition of something horrible. For a moment, he cannot think, his thoughts whirling in a storm of mass confusion. Hinamori only smirks, not answering. "Talk to me, Hinamori!" He steps forward, but the fire insect creatures spew a white, hot venom towards him, instantly incinerating the innocent grass by his feet into ashes.

"Aizen-taichou _needs_ me, Shiro-chan," Hinamori explains condescendingly, taking on the tone of a preschool teacher. "It is my _duty_ and my _destiny_ to serve him. And you've witnessed our ritual. I cannot let you live, Shiro-chan, knowing you've witnessed such a classified operation."

"If this is a joke, it's not funny, Hinamori!" Hitsugaya shouts. The insects hum angrily. "This is nasty an—"

"You can join Hiyori-san in death once I'm done." Hinamori replies. "Then, you two may argue all you like."

Hitsugaya sucks in a breath. "It was _you_ who hurt Sarugaki. And Danzomaru…"

"Was a piece of cake," she finishes, smiling. "Sorry, Shiro-chan. I need to go now." Hinamori directs her sword at the five flickering monsters. "Snap!"

Four of the five creatures throw back their heads, grinding their pincers together, and fly at him, vibrating their wings in a cacophonous hum. Wincing, Hitsugaya thrusts out his blade, managing to block the onslaught of one attacker. But the other three ram into his side with their heavy horns much resembling those of stag beetles. Hitsugaya sees the night sky and the full moon; he is knocked into the air. Time seems to slow as he falls back to the earth. "Sit upon the frozen heavens, Hyorinmaru!" he screams, yanking his sword out of its sheath. He regains his landing just in time to see two monsters charging from the side, oozing that venomous substance from their jaws. Instinctively, he slashes the thin air, sending a wave of ice cascading over the snarling creatures. But before he can assess his situation, snapping pincers of the two remaining beasts clash with the flat of Hyorinmaru's blade.

_Why are they so powerful? _Out of the corner of his vision, Hinamori steps into the Senkaimon, escorted by the last insect. Hitsugaya swears under his breath and pushes against the two monsters the most force he can muster. "Hinamori! Wait!"

She pauses in the threshold of the gate, turns around slowly, and sends him a look of absolutely derision. "Sorry we had to say good-bye like this, Shiro-chan," she remarks flatly. The insect beside her growls deeply, but she waves it off with a nonchalant flick of her finger. "It would've been easier if you hadn't followed me here." A small smile winks past her face. "Let's go." Together with the flickering monster, she slips into the alternate dimension, and the Senkaimon closes shut, disappearing off the riverbank.

"Damn it!" Hitsugaya clenches his teeth and thrusts his sword into the heart of a snarling monster. Three down. Two from his ice attack and now this one. He pulls Hyorinmaru out of the beast and turns to the remaining enemy—

_Enemies_.

Four monsters, their gleaming obsidian bodies darker than night _completely unscathed_, surround him, flaring up their fiery wings and dripping hot venom from their pincers. Hitsugaya swings around; the one he'd presumably defeated with a thrust to the heart stands stalwartly, as if nothing had happened. There is no evidence of receiving a fatal blow. _High-speed regeneration?_ And the two he supposedly froze? Standing before him unruffled.

The four monsters crowd around him, clicking their pincers together in communication. They look vaguely like hell butterflies due to the patterns on their wings, but their body shape is completely different, appearing anthropomorphic, standing on two legs, the other four used as arms. The brawniest creature roars for silence and spews its grisly, white vemon over the smaller creatures, which wail in submission. It shoots Hitsugaya a malevolent glare through its shiny eyes that seem to wrap around the entire top half of its head, and without warning, it kicks him to the ground with its black foot.

Bastard. There is literally no escape. The monsters' sheer sizes cover all escape routes. Hitsugaya is rendered absolutely defenseless. His mind races for any possible solution. Then a thought hits him; it's worth a try. He raises a hand towards the largest monster, surmised their leader. "Hado No. 33, Soukatsui!" An enormous blast of blue energy launches from his hand and barrels directly into the beast. Smoke whirls from the impact, and the other creatures screech in astonishment, stomping over one another in the dark haze. There is an opening between the monsters' legs. Grateful for his small size for once, Hitsugaya scrambles through the one-way exit—only to meet once again the furious pincers of the lead enemy. It made it through the spell without a single scratch on its sleek, black skin. Armor.

Before he can react, the monster grabs Hitsugaya by the throat and pins him into the trunk of a nearby tree. He gasps for breath, but the creature snarls, pressing tighter, cutting off his oxygen intake without mercy. It emits a ragged series of buzzes and snarls—seemingly jeering at him—before throwing back its head, expanding its pincer jaws, and forms a sphere of virulently swirling crimson reiatsu, searing hot and dense, growing larger and larger. _A Cero?_ There's no escaping now.

Hitsugaya has been told countless times how near-death experiences allow you to see the overview of your entire life. It's true. He watches his childhood in Rukongai, living with Grams and Hinamori, devouring watermelon and being shunned by the neighborhood kids. His first meeting with Matsumoto, in which he almost froze Grams to death, and how she brought him to Seireitei, the beautiful city all the neighborhood kids dreamed of. His swift progress through the Academy, his promotion to the Gotei 13, and his rise amongst the ranks: Third Seat, Lieutenant, and finally, Captain. The invasion of Seireitei by Kurosaki and his crew, Aizen's betrayal, and Hinamori's accident. The Winter War, fighting Aizen, and almost killing his best friend. And finally, his best friend's betrayal. There were rough times in his life that needed smoothing, but otherwise, he's lived a decent life.

Either the dense reiatsu of the monster's attack or the sheer heat of it makes Hitsugaya's head spin, and the sparkles in the sky, illuminated by the attackers' blazing wings, cast him a sympathetic glance before dancing out of his vision. It's really the end. Even the stars have abandoned hope.

But there's a spark in the distance. He can't really discern what it is, but a golden spark flashes across the riverbank, and the monster chokes off his Cero and backs away warily. It ruffles its wings at its companions in warning, and they join it in a tight circle, bracing themselves for whatever is approaching. Hitsugaya, dazed, raises his eyes meekly. Instantly, he is blinded by a painful flash. The monsters let out earsplitting screeches, and the sound of sharp static elicits another round of agonized ululations. A figure steps forward—albeit laboriously, as if hindered by something—and Hitsugaya feels himself slipping away into the dark void of his sub-consciousness, his lips forming the unsaid words. His eyes roll back, and everything turns black.

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><p><strong>AN: How'd you all like it? Sorry it's so long...I wasn't motivated to split this into multiple chapters, so I guess it works out for both me as a write and you all as readers: less work for me, more content for y'all.**

**Have you guys checked out my new drabble collection "His Name Is Kurosaki Ichigo" yet? It's a compilation of testimonials about Ichigo from a range of characters he's encountered over the years. It would mean the world to me if you all would give it a shot and leave me some feedback of what's good and what sucks. (Plus, it's updated daily!) But it's up to you guys really.**

**As for "Different" and "The Rukongai Games," please be a little more patient. They're in the process of revision and SUPER EDITS, so keep an eye out for those, guys! Anyways, thanks for all the support, and see ya later at the next installment!**


	17. United Front

**A/N: Sorry for the long time it took me to update, guys. Been so busy lately (even though it's summer, gosh!), so I haven't really had time to come around with this. Hope you'll enjoy!**

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><p>Chapter Seventeen – United Front<p>

"Hey, midget. Get yer ass up."

The darkness exerts an unbearable pressure over him, a thousand tons anchored on top of his body, refusing any letup. He tries to squirm and wriggle from its stronghold, mustering strength into his tendons and joints, but the profuse denseness effortlessly pins him back down once again. He forces out a breath, lost of all hope, from his teeth, and he relaxes. Forget it. There's no hope. He's done.

"Don't make me repeat myself." It's that voice again. It stings like nettles against his skin, badgering his muscles into working again, even if it means bruising his skin or opening cuts. It's prolifically _annoying_. He hears a sigh dripping with sarcasm and then, "_Get yer fuckin' ass up, ya damned midget!_"

Something turbulent and brutal plows into the side of Hitsugaya's head, and in an instant, the darkness seeps out of his mind to be replaced by a resurgence of a pink and orange dawn sky. He scrambles to sit up, but a sharp pain snaps in his stomach, kicking him back down. "What the h—"

"It's 'bout time ya woke up. Any later an' I'da thought you were dead as a doornail," a voice huffs. He turns his aching head to see the smug face of Sarugaki Hiyori gazing down on him with her Zanpakuto slung over her shoulder. In her right hand, beamed the culprit of the assault: yet again, that damned yellow flip-flop. It strikes him as odd that despite her wearing the standard Shinigami's shikahusho, she remains stubbornly in those same battered flip-flops, completely neglecting to switch to the uniform sandals.

"S-Sarugaki!" he stammers. He painfully lifts himself onto his elbows. His head whirls from an onslaught of confusion, rousing questions like a tornado whipping up farmhouses and pastures. "What are you doing here—the monsters! What happened? What in the world happened to Hinamori? Where is sh—"

"Shaddap, asshole!" Sarugaki cuts in, thrusting down her sword inches away from his hand. "One question at a time! My mind ain't processin' all this shit!"

Hitsugaya takes a deep breath and scans his surroundings. He sits on a pebbled riverbank, cherry blossoms flanking either side of the gentle waters. Deciduous shrubbery and trees stretch far across the landscape, early spring insects already taking the stage in the foliage with their motley lineup of songs. It is nearly twilight, the stars beginning to wink into dark orange dawn sky, resting for another night to come around. The monsters that attacked him earlier that evening are gone, but the evidence of their existence smolders in clumps of burnt grass, courtesy of that white venom they produced.

"Hey, ya gonna talk?" Sarugaki prompts, shifting impatiently on her feet.

A jet of pain shoots across the midriff and he gasps in shock, falling onto his back, onto the weathered pebbles that provide little buffer.

"Whoa! What's the matter?" Sarugaki furrows her eyebrows as she squats down swiftly. Hitsugaya, wincing, tugs down the neckline of his shikahusho to find his entire torso screaming bright red in agony. "A burn," Sarugaki proclaims, positioning her hands on her sides. "Second degree—at least. Gotta get that treated _quick_. Any aloe vera 'round here? Oh wait, we ain't in a desert."

"Where's my Zanpakuto," Hitsugaya mutters wearily. "I need Hyorinmaru."

"Oh, this thing?" Sarugaki hands him his sealed Zanpakuto. "It was layin' in the grass over there."

Hitsugaya nods. He focuses his reiatsu, reining in the free-spirited ice into a refined, thin line and presses the blade of his sword against his searing chest. The freezing metal, upon contact, sends a shivering chill up and out through his torso, slowly replacing the excruciating pain with a soothing coolness. He sighs, "That'll do it for the time being."

"Those monsters burn ya?"

Hitsugaya blinks. "What?"

"Don't tell me they got yer ears too," Sarugaki scorns. "Did those weird butterfly things burn ya? They've got those fire wings and shit, so puttin' two 'n' two together…?"

"You defeated them?" he breathes. "With your Zanpakuto?" He gestures towards her cleaver.

A look of surprise flashes across the Visored's face, and she manages, "Wi' this thing? Uh…no, I used a Ki-Kido spell! Yeah, Kido did it! This sword's just a melee weapon, so I finished 'em off with it!"

"Really?" he replies, narrowing his eyes. "I applied the same tactics and yet they still did not show any signs of—"

"So ya _did_ get burned?" Sarugaki butts in.

"I suppose so," Hitsugaya murmurs. But a thought hits him. "I need to get her back." He bites down on his bottom teeth, registering to the pain in his abdomen, and lugs himself to his feet, heaving heavily. He grips his Zanpakuto steady and with difficulty, twists his wrist to prepare a Senkaimon.

"Hey, where the hell d'ya think yer goin'?" Sarugaki demands, scrambling to her feet.

"Thank you, Sarugaki," Hitsugaya says quietly, facing the opening gate, "for saving me from the creatures. But I need to find Hinamori—" His voice drops off as a jolt of pain darts up his side, and he keels over, choking for breath. The Senkaimon stops partially from opening.

Sarugaki sniffs, "Wi' that wound? Alone? Yer a real dumbass 'spite the fact that yer a frickin' _captain_." She stomps beside him, her arms crossed stiffly before her chest. "I'm gonna come along too."

Hitsugaya's heart almost skips a beat. "What?" he hisses. "No! You can't!"

"Uh yeah—I _can_," Sarugaki responds sardonically. "I'm goin' whether ya like it or not."

"No, I can't let you do that," Hitsugaya turns to look her square in the eye. She glares back. He sighs, "You wouldn't understand—"

"Kid, I fuckin' saved ya. Ain't that worth anythin'?"

"No," Hitsugaya says finally. "You're not going. This is my fight."

"S'cuse me, but I _saved_ you from gettin' killed in your _own_ fight! You ain't gonna last another second out there!" He winces at her trenchant words, but the steel in her eyes softens slightly. "Besides, I've got my own reasons fer goin' too."

"What?"

"That Hinamori. I made a promise to both you _and _her. I promised that I'd help her recover—but did I? Like hell I did. Instead, I made her twenty times worse than before, and it's _my_ job to bring her safe and sound and help her get better. Got it, midget?"

Words entangle themselves on his tongue like a bowl of noodles. Hitsugaya stares at the blonde in disbelief. That promise? She's actually committing herself to that promise? He didn't thank that she'd take it that seriously, and it blew his mind that she'd go _this_ far to stick to her word.

"Now cut the crap, _Hitsugaya_." Sarugaki spits out his name in spite. "Finish openin' up this damned Senkaimon and get us to the real world. Ya don't want Hinamori driftin' even farther away, don'tcha?"

Closing his eyes, he concedes. "All right." He twists his Zanpakuto the rest of the ninety degrees, and the gate slides open, revealing the connecting dimension. "I don't know where this is going to take us…but I'm tracking Hinamori's reiatsu through this."

"Whatever," Sarugaki mutters. "Get in there before I have t'push ya in myself."

* * *

><p>Our first obstacle is his limit. That dark, crude marking that brands itself on the midget's chest the second we followed the two hell butterflies into the Senkaimon. Hitsugaya winces when the limit, an unmistakable daffodil, settles onto his skin just above his burn. "Damn it!" he hisses, doubling over. "Those jigokucho and now <em>this<em>!"

The limit is going to be a serious problem. If I'm not wrong, it seals about thirty percent of a captain or lieutenant's power, so in simpler words, he's screwed when those monsters meet up with us again.

"Get a move on, midget!" I snap, whipping around in exasperation. "We needa get goin' _now_, and these little butterflies are gonna take us to wherever the hell Hinamori ran off to!"

The midget shoots me a glare. He straightens his shikahusho and takes a labored step forward. "You seriously don't need to come," he mutters. "And how'd you get here anyway?"

How'd I get here? A little story, on my part. I stared into the glowing path before us; the stupid bugs were getting impatient, fluttering farther up the road, oblivious to the blatant fact that we've got an incapable passenger here. I never liked those jigokucho anyway. Never had much of a tolerance for bugs. Their maroon markings flicker in warning, and I roll my eyes. There's no other choice: I grudgingly loop an arm around the midget's shoulder, snap his own arm around my own shoulder, and boost him up to his toes. To my surprise, he's actually just about the same height as me. Go figure.

"What the hell—"

"Shaddap! It's obvious that ya can't walk, and we needa get goin' otherwise we'll lose her!" I interrupt, taking the first step of our two-person chain forward. Hitsugaya follows, painfully following my lead. "Now that we're movin'—"

The midget freezes in his tracks. "What's happened in Seireitei?" he demands, out of the blue.

I kick him in the back of his knee. "Get movin', dammit!" I smirk, watching him bite back a yelp of surprise. "Looks like we've got a while to walk through his _ridiculously long half-mile_, so now's a good time to start!"

* * *

><p>My body literally felt like it was going spontaneously combust any second. My arms and legs trembled with an agonizing static that ripped through my nervous system like an overambitious poison, threatening to overtake my body and drag me down—but I knew this feeling. Sure, it's been a while since I've felt it, but it was in my blood to know how to deal with this aftershock feeling. The solution's simple really: just relax. Breath in. Breath out. Breath in. Let my body do its work and extinguish this static. A feeling—cool, smooth, and slick, its texture extremely similar to conditioner—spreading from the pit of my stomach, throughout my torso, guided me along the process. This factor was weak, however, but it was some solace to the excruciation. At last, my eyes opened; I breached the surface.<p>

The first sound I heard was a shrill scream. "Yes!" Matsumoto Rangiku. That decent drinker I met at Hinamori's get-well party. She knelt beside me, exercising some sort of Kido over my stomach, which seemingly explained that helping factor.

"Where am I?" I slurred, lifting a hand to my throbbing head. The room was unfamiliar, but it looked like an office all set with a furnished wood floor and a set of standard Gotei 13 furniture. Although single lamp burned on the desk nearby, I found it difficult to see in the room.

"You're in the Tenth Division office," Matsumoto replied. Her hands spread a damp, fresh towel across my feverish forehead, but I shrugged it off, pulling myself to my feet. "Wait! You shouldn't get up yet—"

"I'm fine!" Dizzy, I stumbled against a couch and knocked into the corner of a coffee table. A sharp pain raced up my side, and I spat out a curse. Matsumoto rushed to my side, insisting that I sat down and rested for a bit, but I shoved myself out of her grasp. "Seriously, I'm fine! Where's Hinamori?"

Her eyes turned dark, and immediately, my heart sank. "Well, the Taichou went after her…and there have been reports of an assault in the Fourth—"

"I'm goin' out," I mumbled, snatching up my Zanpakuto from the ground. "Thanks fer takin' care o' me, Matsumoto. Healin' my wounds an' shit."

"Wait! You're in horrible shape—how the hell can you go out like that?" the lieutenant cried, flying in front of me. "The Kido I performed you is only—"

"Perfect," I finished. "Seriously, Matsumoto, I couldn't have asked fer anythin' better."

The strawberry blonde still seemed unconvinced. She nervously twirled a strand of her hair and around a finger. "I really shouldn't let you go out like this. You were on the brink of death, and it's a really impulsive idea to go after Hinamori—"

"Impulsive?" I shot back. "Look at the midget! Didn't he barge outta here not too long ago?"

Matsumoto sighed. "Alright, I guess." Before I could step out of the office and search for either Hinamori's or the midget's reiatsu, the lieutenant gently laid a hand on my arm. Her eyes swiftly swept across the hallway, and she spoke quietly, "I know I shouldn't be doing this, but can I ask to you to do something for me?"

I blinked. "What?"

I've never seen such a forlorn expression from this woman because I've always had the impression she was that bubbly, bouncy person who's the life of parties. But that look on her face haunted me. Her eyes held a darkness that seemed to want to suck me in, and her lips wavered in an apprehensive frown. She stared at the ground for a moment before speaking. "Watch out for the him, Sarugaki. I mean, the Taichou. He can do some reckless things sometimes—despite how he usually is. Just make sure he doesn't do anything…you get what I mean."

I choked on a laugh. Was she messing around? But when her mouth didn't crack a smile, I knew she was serious. I looked her square in the eye. "I'm not sure if I'm the person fer this task, but I'll try my best."

"Thank you, Sarugaki. And stay safe."

* * *

><p>When Shinji approached me, I was completely caught off guard. Although my Zanpakuto was supposed to allow me to detect everyone's presence in Seireitei, it never occurred to me that his reiatsu escaped my scope. He melted out of the shadows of a building, slipping out with the smoothness of an alleyway cat, and stepped ten feet before me. I skidded to a stop.<p>

"What'cha doin'?" he inquired, crossing his arms. He looked me up and down, unimpressed. "An' why're ya dressed in that shikahusho?

I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of my face. "That ain't any o' yer business," I said quickly.

Shinji scratched the back of his head. "Oh, really?"

"Yes!" I shot back. I began wading down the empty street, silver from the moon's eerie glow. My flip-flops padded softly, but occasionally squeaking with the guilt a mouse, on the stone ground as I stepped. The second I stepped past Shinji, I stiffened, adjusting my hold on my sword, but he didn't even react. I walked more slowly—he was now behind me, still unmoving.

"You've got yer sword out," he commented. I didn't answer. "Looks like yer gonna do somethin' important, isn't it?"

I flinched. I refused to turn around and meet his piercing gaze. I just couldn't. I knew that I'd crack and let up. He knew how to break me down, from the inside, from the outside. "Yeah." My hands squeezed the hilt of my sword in a death grip.

To my surprise, he let out a laugh, a loud, hearty sound that rang through the streets like a bell. I was more than tempted to turn around and smack him for taunting me, for torturing me like this, but I stood my ground and continued walking forward. At last, his ridiculous laughter died down, and he let out a huge sigh. "Well, dumbass, be careful out there, 'kay?"

I froze in my tracks. This entire situation seemed out of hand all thanks to that bastard. Why the hell was I out here in the first place? The question left me hanging there, and I cursed Shinji under my breath for that. That was how he got me: he made me reconsider everything—my morals, my choices, my actions. Damn him. I heard footsteps on the other end—his footsteps—shuffling away in the opposite direction. He was leaving. Unable to bear it any longer, I whirled around with the full intent of landing the dick with a knuckle sandwich, but he spoke before I could act, "And don'tcha forget t'come home." Shinji slid his hands into his pockets and hunched his narrow shoulders. "Got it?"

I watched him saunter away, those ugly golf shoes shuffling away smugly on the pavement. "Yeah," I replied, but Shinji had already flash-stepped away.

* * *

><p>We step out of the Senkaimon, careful not stress the midget's wound anymore than it already is, onto a patch of stone and wood rubble. I can smell fire and smoke nearby. Suddenly, I find a blade against my throat. "Who are you people, and what do you want?" But then I hear a gasp and a disgustingly familiar voice. "Ah, Hiyori-san! What brings you here? And I see Hitsugaya-taichou's with you as well!"<p>

The blade disappears from my throat, and with that unmistakable sound of outdated wooden sandals clacking against the ground, I stop breathing because there's only one single person in this entire universe who'd have the nerve—and the stupidity—to wear shit like those. "Kisuke!"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: How'd you all like it? Feel free to leave some feedback in that little box! The good, the bad, typically review stuff! **


	18. Old Acquaintances

**A/N: Finally got around to updating! Hurray! Thank you for all the reviews over this last week; they've seriously gotten me motivated to write, write, write! However, I must warn you all: this chapter is EXTREMELY dialogue-heavy, so brace yourselves.**

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><p>Chapter Eighteen – Old Acquaintances<p>

"It's been a while, Hiyori-san," Urahara remarks, snapping his fan open and flashing them a grin. "What's the occasion?"

Hitsugaya watches Sarugaki bite back a snarl. Her grip on his shoulder tightens, her nails almost digging into his skin through the fabric of his shikahusho, and he focuses his attention on a charred rock by Urahara's feet to hold himself back from yelping in pain. "_What's the occasion?_" Sarugaki explodes, whipping out of their two-person support chain.

The pain in Hitsugaya's abdomen screams, and without warning, his knees give out from under him. Expecting the hard, rough ground, his eyes widen when a pair of strong hands hoist him back up to his feet. He twists his head around to meet the solemn, bronze face of Tsukabishi Tessai.

"Yer rip-off shack just got fuckin' trashed, an' all you've got to say is, _What's the occasion?_" He must have blinked and missed it; Sarugaki's flip-flop instantly materializes in her fist. She leaps up, swings the piece of yellow rubber against the top of Urahara's head, throttles him in the gut with the foot wearing her remaining flip-flop, and lands on her toes in one, fluid motion.

"Ow!" Urahara wails. His hands vacillate between his head and his stomach, as if unsure of which injury to sooth first. "Hiyori-san, it's good to see you too!"

"Why, ya bastard," Sarugaki snarls, squeezing her hand into a fist. "What the hell happened here?" She points past the shopkeeper—towards a smoking structure, burnt almost completely coal-black. The beams teeter dangerously as Urahara's two employees, Jinta and Ururu, aim a turbulent stream from a firefighter's hose at a small blaze on the rooftop of what used to be—the Urahara Shop. A horrible thought crosses Hitsugaya's mind. _Hinamori?_ Another jet of pain shoots up his torso, and he groans, falling back into Tsukabishi's wide frame.

Urahara's head snaps up. "Ah, Hitsugaya-taichou! It seems you are injured!"

"No shit, Sherlock—"

"I believe the modern term is, 'No _dip_, Sher—" Sarugaki raises her flip-flop in warning. Urahara laughs uneasily. "Of course, Hiyori-san! Let's get our priorities sorted out, eh? Tessai-san! Let's get these two over to the safe area, shall we?" The shopkeeper dances through the maze of rubble, calling out to Jinta and Ururu to keep up the great work.

Hitsugaya steps out of Tsukabishi's grasp. "I can walk," he says, grimacing. "Don't worry about me." Uncertainty passes over the bronze man's features like a storm cloud, but he shrugs and follows Urahara. He takes a step, winces, and urges himself to keep moving.

"How's it goin'?" Sarugaki appears by his side, arms crossed smugly over her chest.

"Not better," he grits out. "But let me ask you something."

"Shoot."

Hitsugaya takes a quick sweep around. The area looks devastated, but the surrounding human structures seem intact. As expected, Urahara had the sense to set up a barrier during the attack. He gestures Sarugaki to lean in closer with an inclination of his head. In a low voice, he hisses, "What the hell are you doing?"

"And what the hell are _you_ talkin' 'bout?" she responds, narrowing her eyes.

"You can't just assault Urahara like that! He's helping us out, so you ought to show some respect for—"

"_Respect?_" Sarugaki scoffs. Her eyes flash dangerously, and something tells Hitsugaya he shouldn't venture any further. "Listen kiddo, when I show Kisuke respect, that'll be when I dress up like a fairy princess an' knock on some little ol' lady's door fer some Halloween candy. An' when'll that happen? Never in my lifetime. If I were you, I'd shut the hell up 'cause I've known this guy, Kisuke, an' what kind of a man he is." She snickers, shooting Urahara a spiteful glance. "An' as fer _assaultin'_ him?" She redirects her attention onto him, and she grins, displaying her protuberant incisor. "Ya'd never, _ever_ know!"

The blonde strolls after the shopkeeper, stomping over the destroyed ground, every inch of her screaming indignity. Hitsugaya curses her under his breath. Ticking off Urahara is as dangerous as lighting a fuse to a time bomb. As flippant as the man may seem, he is absolutely deadly; provoking him will be the end of them. He has no idea what kind of relationship Sarugaki has with Urahara, but growing apprehension simmers in the pit of stomach like a vile soup. He limps after her, biting his tongue to stop from saying anything more.

* * *

><p>Kisuke pours us cheap tea that reeks of expiration. Once a miser, always a miser. The "safe area" he mentioned is nestled between two piles six-foot piles of rubble, close to the walls of the barrier he'd set up before we arrived. A heap of salvaged items—crates of merchandise, provisions, and other goods—that have apparently survived the attack sits stalwartly by a small campfire. As my former captain goes on a tirade about the health benefits of tea (in a covert attempt to draw our attention away from how blatantly shitty his oolong is), Tessai administers basic first aid to the midget and proceeds to performing Kido on his burns.<p>

"Very good for the entire body system," Kisuke sings, setting a steaming "I-Heart-Cats" mug before Hitsugaya, flushing uncomfortably from sitting half-naked with only his boxers on. They've managed to drag their prized coffee table—still smelling of burnt cherry—out of debris along with several seat cushions and pillows to be used as chairs. "Keeps you awake too with that caffeine!"

"Urahara, that's not really necessary," the midget says, wincing. Tessai pats his back heartily and squirts a cream over Hitsugaya's fire engine-red skin. The midget lets out a huge sigh. "Serving us should be the least of your worries, after all this…" He shrugs at the remains of the Urahara Shop.

"Oh, don't worry!" Kisuke waves his stupid fan in front of his face. Without thinking, I reach over, swipe the little knick-knack out of his hand, and inspect it. It's seriously just a piece of shit: two little sticks of wood nailed roughly together and a folded piece of copy paper glued in between the sticks. A kindergartener can beat this. "Hiyori-san, I see you're enjoying my vintage fan! I specially purchased it from a designer clothing line in the human city, New York, and—" I dump the midget's tea over the flimsy paper and rip the damned "vintage" accessory clean in half.

Hitsugaya gasps. Tessai blinks. I shrug. "Whoops."

"Hiyori-san!" Kisuke wails. I toss the two soaked halves into his lap, crossing my arms in satisfaction. He cradles the preschool project close to his chest. "Why!"

"Way to go, Hiyori!" a familiar voice cheers from…directly beside me. A whoosh of air whips my hair up, and Shihouin Yoruichi materializes beside me, clapping me on the shoulder. "Kisuke's been getting too attached to that thing, anyways."

"Hey, Yoruichi," I say, my voice shaking. My heart hammers in my chest; she always does that, appearing out of nowhere and whizzing right beside me. I swear, one of these days, when I drop dead of a heart attack, someone will find the inklings of Yoruichi's footprints right beside where I collapsed.

"It's been a while, Hiyori." She nods, folding her arms over the table. "How's Hirako and the rest holding up?"

I flinch, as if she'd just slapped me. Thinking about Shinji and the others, ignites a pang of guilt in me. By leaving them, have _I_ actually been the traitor? After blaming them for ditching me, am _I_, in reality, the one at fault for leaving Soul Society on such a short notice? All of these thoughts nip at me like gnats, and no matter how hard I try to shoo them away, they just keep whizzing back forward. "Pretty well," I respond. "We're in a bit of a…pickle, though."

Yoruichi nods and pours herself a cup of tea. "That Visored Repeal jazz?" She takes a sip, but a grimace spreads across her face. Quick and quietly, she drains the remaining liquid onto the ground.

"Wait, how do you know about that?" Hitsugaya inquires.

"Oh, Hitsugaya-taichou! You're here too. I think you should put a shirt on." Yoruichi winks. "And as for your question, I've got my sources. Anyways," she turns to Kisuke, "suck it up. That fan was just a plaything."

"But it was a vintage—"

"Preschool project, dickhead!" I finish.

Yoruichi flashes me a broad smile. "Couldn't agree more."

Kisuke heaves a sigh and tosses his mangled fan over his shoulder, onto a pile of rubbish. "Alright, I guess I'll just find a replacement. But Yoruichi-san, how was your investigation?"

Yoruichi runs a hand through her long hair. "Pretty rough. I tracked her reiatsu off to

District Two, and then I lost her. But when we were fighting in the Senkaimon, damn, it was tough. She fired a level-90 Kido with no incantation and didn't even look winded. Definitely has some of _his_ influence over her."

"Wait." They face Hitsugaya. "What in the world happened here in Karakura Town?"

The Urahara Shop crew doesn't not speak for a while. Kisuke crosses his arms. "Well, about thirty minutes prior to your arrival, we experienced an attack, an explosion to be exact. We managed to evacuate everyone and erect a barrier, but the shop was almost destroyed down to its base." He nods to Tessai, who marches off someplace. "However, Yoruichi-san was able to land several attacks on this invader before he or she escaped, and she swiped this." Tessai returned, gripping an armband. A lieutenant's armband. He flipped the badge over, revealing the unmistakable lily-of-the-valley imprint: the mark of the Fifth Division. "Our attacker was a Shinigami."

"Hi-Hina—" I choke.

But Hitsugaya cuts me off, "Shihouin, what the hell did this Shinigami look like?"

Yoruichi scrunches up her face, deep in thought. "Short-ish, a little taller than you guys, no offense. Hair tied in a bun. Brunette. Know anyone of that sort?"

"Hinamori," Hitsugaya and I answer simultaneously. "Hinamori Momo."

Kisuke and Yoruichi exchange a look.

"Hold up," I say, slamming my hands down on the table. "Kisuke, why'd Hinamori wreck yer place?"

"Well," he sighs, tipping his hat up to reveal his tired, gray eyes. "It seems she was after certain resources, namely, the directions to special location."

"What?" Hitsugaya responds, pulling his shikahusho over his head.

"Temperance Summit," Urahara says gravely. "The tallest peak in all of Soul Society. Quite a dangerous place."

Hitsugaya straightens his sleeves and narrows his eyes. "Why there of all places? Temperance Summit?"

Urahara drums his fingers on the edge of the charred coffee table. "You see, years back, when I was creating the Hougyoku, I obtained the necessary resources from Temperance Summit. It's the hearth of the Hougyoku, and when Hinamori—that's her name, right?—attacked this place, I sensed something…bizarre inside of her."

"Bizarre?" I repeat.

"It seems that she has a tiny shard of the Hougyoku buried inside of her. I have no idea how it managed to get there, perhaps someone implanted it in there, but there's more. I sensed a presence along with that shard. It felt vaguely like…Aizen Sousuke's reiatsu."

"Aizen?" I burst to my feet. "That's crazy, he's locked away…" My trails off when a distinct memory floods into my mind. "Wait."

"What is it?" Kisuke prompts gently.

I sink back into the seat cushion. "She mentioned something about…serving Aizen?"

"_Serving Aizen?_" the midget says skeptically.

Kisuke nods. "He seemed to be controlling Hinamori—with a small, barely existent morsel of influence. I'm supposing he employed some sort of Kido, although that's highly improbably, providing he's locked away under hundreds of seals and spells. But this is the part that's the most shocking." He strokes the stubble under his chin. "If Hinamori gets to Temperance Summit and fuses with its resources, I have a feeling Aizen will may be revived."

"_What the fuck?"_

"Exactly what I was thinking, Hiyori-san," Kisuke replies. "I don't fully understand how that will work, but Hinamori mentioned something about being one with Aizen. I deduced that she'll use the mountain and that tiny shard inside of her to reproduce the Hougyoku with Aizen's guidance. I believe," he pauses for a moment, "he has access to Hinamori's mind. Was she close to him?"

"Very," Hitsugaya says immediately.

"Ah, that makes it worse. This is purely speculation, on my part, but I have a feeling he implanted some kind of link to her in the past. In other words, he's become her conscience and taken over her mind. He can read her thoughts, influence her emotions and choices, and if he allows it, let her communicate with him."

Yoruichi frowns. "Is that even possible?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Kisuke admits, glancing up at the early morning sky. A yawn escapes his mouth, and he grins sheepishly, "It sure has been too early to deal with this sort of disaster, is it? As I was saying, due to the fact that a) we sensed his reiatsu and b) Yoruichi-san noticed she was conversing with an 'Aizen-taichou' individual whilst fighting and c) Hinamori was using high-level Kido that is by all means improbable for a lieutenant—but one question: can she perform a level-90 spell?"

"Not that I remember," Hitsugaya mumbles quietly.

"Alright then, with all things considered, I believe we can assume that Aizen Sousuke has control over Hinamori Momo's mind, and he has somehow integrated a portion of his abilities, notably his Kido, into Hinamori's body," Kisuke proclaims. "And it is our top priority to stop her from getting to Temperance Summit."

Yoruichi groans, "Hell, we're still recovering from the last battles! When the hell will that bastard learn to give up!"

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><p><strong>AN: How'd you all like it? Feel free to leave some feedback in the review box! Thanks!**


	19. Sever the Roots

**A/N: Hey guys! Before I begin, I would like to thank each and every one of you readers for helping me reach 200 reviews! Honestly, I never thought that I'd reach this far, but you guys don't realize how much this means to me! As a result, I'm going to make quicker updates for you guys as a huge "thank you"! Hope you enjoy!**

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><p>Chapter Nineteen – Sever the Roots<p>

Temperance Summit. The name is vaguely familiar to Hitsugaya, a breathy word on the wind that seems to coil away the more he provokes it. Maybe he skimmed past it during geography during the Academy days, too busy with other subjects to further read its passage in his textbook. Perhaps he just missed a villager's tale of seeing the mountain during his childhood in Rukongai, preferring to play soccer in the patch of grass in front of his grandmother's home.

"How do we get there?" Sarugaki demands, rudely leaning on her elbows on Urahara's coffee table. "We gotta get her back 'fore she stirs up anymore shit!" She regards the shopkeeper with nothing but resentment burning in eyes that refused to match his, but despite this obvious display of tension between the two, Hitsugaya notices something else. He observes the littlest, most insignificant movements between the two—Sarugaki's victorious smirk and Urahara's diplomatic smile—and realizes, with complete surprise, that there is a hidden _camaraderie_ between them. It distantly mirrors a supervisor-subordinate relationship, but it is nonetheless a strong bond.

"Frankly," Urahara sighs, "I've got to admit, when I went there, it was a grueling journey." He reaches his hand into a crate behind him and tugs out a map burnt on the edges. "Your destination is District 111 in North Rukongai."

"Wait." Hitsugaya sits up straighter on his seat cushion. "Don't districts only go up to 80 for each section of Rukongai? North Rukongai should only have 80 districts, not 111."

"Ah, yes, but that's only the charted areas the Gotei 13 are currently monitoring—320 districts," Urahara points out. "However, in truth, each section of Rukongai stretches out to a total 100 districts each, North Rukongai being an exception, having 111 due to geographical complications. Therefore, we've got a grand total of 411 districts, 91 of which are not frequented very often by Shinigami due to the lack of inhabitants in those areas. Anyway, where was I? Of course, you've got to reach the 111th district of North Rukongai."

Sarugaki whistles. "That's out there."

Yoruichi chews on her lip. "Yep, and it's not as easy as just strolling on in there. Didn't you mention something about passing through a certain route or something, Kisuke?"

Urahara nods." You're right. It's not like you're granted immediate access to the mountain once you arrive at that district—you've got to gain that access."

Hitsugaya rubs his forearms. A stubborn, angry scarlet not too long ago, Tessai's treatment have tempered them to a soft pink, and his skin no longer screams at mere contact with his clothing. "Access?"

"Temperance is surrounded by an impermeable barrier perpetually impossible to break, and it requires a key, which is known as Passage. You must follow a strict route in order to enter," Urahara explains.

"A strict route?"

"Yes, it's a hassling, long journey, but just remember this." Urahara clears his throat. "Travel consecutively starting from District 59. You must travel through a total of 52 districts in order to be granted passage, so your route should go strictly in the order of District 59, District 60, District 61, 62, 63, and so on."

"Yeah, but also remember this. District 85 should be your checkpoint. It's heavy woodland and a rather massive district, but it is thriving with resources. Food, water, supplies—I don't recall seeing too many inhabitants, but all you need is in the nature. Be sure to be the utmost prepared for virtually anything."

"85?" Hitsugaya takes a note in his head. "These districts are really far out. It seems that…"

His voice trails off as his eyes meet Sarugaki's. She seems dazed, staring blankly into the sky, roving through the pink and purple morning clouds in search of something. Her fingers clench white around the edge of the coffee table, threatening to crunch straight through the wood, and the expression on her face resembles—a look of complete fear?

"Sarugaki?" Hitsugaya murmurs. "Is something the matter?"

"Huh?" She blinks. "Didja say…85?" She struggles to recompose herself; her shoulders quiver as if she's caught a cold.

"Yes," Urahara says quietly. "Once you have stocked up there, you go through 86, 87, 88, and 89—all very small districts with scarce resources. And then—"

"We reach the Hell 90's," Hitsugaya breathes.

"Ravaged, treacherous desert, I've got to say. Find as much water as possible in the 80's as you can. You may only find one or two tiny 'civilizations' throughout the entire 90's. Then, the rest is a complete change. Districts 100 to 110 are the coldest places in all of Soul Society, each colder than the last you when you go up. But luckily, they're absolutely tiny. The entire strip of arctic is merely ten to twelve miles. At last, you've reached your destination: 111. You can pass right through if you've gotten through each consecutive District from 59—in order."

"Wow." Hitsugaya shakes his head. "That's just insane."

"Do we have to go through 85?" Sarugaki blurts out, twisting the hem of her shikahusho fervently. 'I mean, if it's all possible—"

"No," Urahara replies. "I'm afraid you'll screw up the entire process, and you'll have to start all over again from 59. That's what makes this journey such a pain. Not many have the energy—nor the motivation—to do this, and if I'm not mistaken, Aizen Sousuke and I were the only two to have succeeded."

"O-okay," the blonde mumbles, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"However, you two happen to be in luck!" Urahara exclaims, clapping his hands together. "This entire journey is intended to take you more or less a month, _but_ the materials on Temperance Summit are not due to activate for another two months. It's quite like fruit and ripening, in a sense, so you've got plenty of time to complete the journey. I'm sure Hinamori will be taking her time to ensure an accurate route."

* * *

><p>When that number, 85, tumbled out of Kisuke's mouth, I felt ready to collapse into a heap of bones right there.<p>

I couldn't hear Kisuke's words anymore. My hearing seemed to have shut the clutters and whisked closed the curtains. The pink morning sky? Green? Blue? Orange? All of these colors jumbled into one thick batter above our heads, and _flash_! Lightning tore apart the multi-colored sky—and it all turned gray. Stormy gray. No silver lining.

I knew this sky. It pouted darker than any other during a thunderstorm, darkening to a merciless black, almost as if it were nighttime. When it rained down over us, its precipitation was lethal. Its raindrops seemed to lash against our skin like bullwhips before plummeting to the ground. Its hail drove itself into our exposed flesh like freshly-whetted dagger. And snow? Shit, that's just wishful thinking. District 85 had no dainty little snowflakes that kiddies make in preschool. The "snow" came in seemingly endless series of howling blizzards, ripping across the landscape in a maelstrom of turbulent white, flinging weak-resolved trees into the sky only to land back to the ground as massacred twigs and branches. That's what the sky of 85 was.

There were things I buried in that district a long time ago, and I have no intention of digging those things up. Shinji told me that Kari left him a message for both of us: _keep on moving forward_. Doesn't that mean I shouldn't venture back out to that hell?

Hinamori. I finally understand why my Inner Hollow insisted on not following Hinamori. If I had heeded to her words, I wouldn't have gotten into this mess. That field and the rolling storm clouds in my dream? Ain't I a dumbass; it was a kind warning from my Hollow, for goodness sake! If I continued associating with Hinamori, I was just asking to have my ass landed back in 85! Hell, I bet if my Hollow hadn't cut off all communications between us, she'd be laughing the shit out of her right now.

But Hinamori's out there, just confused and manipulated. I can't leave that poor girl to wander the roads and do things that'll ultimately kill her after promising the midget I'd look over her. If I remember correctly, I'm pretty sure I swore on my life. In short, that wasn't an empty promise like obliging to do the grocery shopping next Tuesday.

And what's more? She's my friend. Friends don't ditch each other in times of need. We stick up for each other even if it means diving into the deadliest ocean, riddled with those seven-eyed, luminescent sharks, or trudging through the murkiest swamp, lurking with crusty, old crocodiles. I'm going to march right on through that damned district, hike the last leg of this fucking journey straight up to Hinamori's face, and knock some pure sense into her muddled head.

And I swear that on my life, dammit.

* * *

><p>"Do it," the midget grits out, yanking down the collar of his shikahusho to reveal that black daffodil standing pigheadedly on his chest. He grips Hinamori's lieutenant's armband in his fist. "I can't have this limit weighing me down."<p>

"Are you sure?" Kisuke repeats, ceasing the flow of light-blue reiatsu in his hand. "Heck," he frowns, "this is completely unnecessary due to the fact that your entire journey's going to be in Soul Society where you have no need of having your power limited. You'll lose your status as a captain, you know, and Soul Society will interpret this as betrayal, and they'll track this evidence back here. Why are you doing this?"

"That's exactly the reason why I'm doing this," Hitsugaya sighs. "I can't have the Twelfth Division tracking my every movement, so I've got no choice but to go this route."

"Ah!" Kisuke grins and turns to me. "Looks like Kurotsuchi-san's been tinkering around! Tracking the movements of everyone? That's an excellent idea! Seems to me that the fellow's intelligence hasn't wavered one bit! How's he been, Hitsugaya-taichou?"

"Intelligence?" I snort, crossing my arms. "He's still got the social skills of a warthog, considerin' the fact that he gave me a fuckin' Venus flytrap as a get-well gift."

"Is that so—"

"Urahara," Hitsugaya cuts in. "When the first investigation squad arrives, please blame the damage of this place on me, and…" He removes his hoity-toity captain's haori gingerly, and without a moment's notice, he beats it on the dusty ground, caking it in a coat of brown. He rumples the garment into a ball and tosses it to Kisuke. "Use this as evidence, and I'll take this." He holds up Hinamori's armband.

"A red herring? Covering up for that assailant?" Yoruichi interjects. "Hitsugaya-taichou! Don't you realize that the Gotei 13 will be after your ass? And you know who's going to be leading this campaign? Soi Fon—"

"Been there. Done that," he murmurs.

"What!"

"Listen," Hitsugaya says flatly. "I've got this all planned out. Blame the damage of this place on me and only me, and please leave Hinamori out of this. I'll get this cleared up as soon as I can."

"Midget, you ain't doin' this alone!" I butt in. "Split half the damages with me—"

"Not you too, Hiyori!" Yoruichi groans. She slams her fist on the table, leaving an indent on the surface. "You two don't realize what you're up against. I know this—why? Don't you forget that I was commander-in-chief of the Onmitsukido at one time along with Corrections Corps and _especially_ the Executive Militia." In a low tone, "It's true that you guys are lucky that _I'm_ not in charge at the moment because if I were, I'd catch you two like shooting fish in a barrel, but Soi Fon's still a pretty competent leader."

"Damn, Soi Fon, as in that bitch captain?" I let out a laugh. "Bring it on, 'cause we've got some real shit between us, an' I'd love t'beat her ass some day!"

"Hiyori-san, did you irritate Soi Fon-taichou?" Kisuke gasps.

I bob my head up and down. "Hell yeah, I did! She was my roommate—"

"No," Yoruichi breathes. "Hiyori, you didn't…oh gosh, what the hell did you say to her?"

I blanche. "Well, I'm not sure if it's that great of an idea to say it to you guys' faces, but I'll assure ya it was kinda—"

"Unnecessary?" Kisuke offers.

"Wait, what happened?" Hitsugaya grumbles, clearly lost.

"Hiyori, do you remember when you and Mashiro came over one time," Yoruichi asks softly. "To spar with me? Do you remember that technique I used?"

I suck in a breath. "Shit, that was crazy." If it weren't for my mask, I'm sure Yoruichi's last attack would've shattered every single bone in my body. Mashiro still complains of that long, white scar rippling down her calf, courtesy of Shunko.

"Well, I've got a feeling that you'll be seeing that technique again once Soi Fon finds you guys out. A captain and a Visored. She's going to have to use that sooner or later, considering what potent opponents she'll be facing." Yoruichi hefts herself up to her feet and raises her arms above her head in a stretch. "Well, I need to go and get that thing we were discussing before this mess happened sorted out, Kisuke, so I'll be gone for a while." She gives me a grave look. "I hope you know what you're doing, guys." Without another word, she disappears, leaving behind only a pair of footprints in the ground and one strand of long, dark hair.

* * *

><p>"Are you ready, Hitsugaya-taichou?" Kisuke repeats, rechanneling the glowing reiatsu into his fingertips.<p>

"We've waited too long already for this," the midget replies. "Urahara, please."

"I'd just like you to know," Kisuke says. "That I think this is rather bold of you. I'd never expect you to do it." He rams his hand against Hitsugaya's chest, knocking him backwards into Tessai's arms. The light in the midget's eyes fade to a dull blur and, his facial muscles instantly relax. Hitsugaya falls limp into a deep slumber. "But," Kisuke whispers, "I admire you for doing this."

"Kisuke, what the hell!"

"That's perfectly normal, Hiyori-san," Kisuke assures me, waving his hand flippantly. "He'll be out for about fifteen to twenty minutes, and then up and ready in no time. Tessai-san?"

"Yes." The tall man lifts the midget's shrimpy body towards several mattresses nearby and deposits him on a faded peach mat.

"Ah, by the way, Hiyori-san," Kisuke pipes up. "Did you receive that basket of daisies I sent you earlier this month? They're homegrown flowers, and I'd thought you'd like some to freshen up your day!"

"Shinji brought 'em in." A pang of guilt hammers itself against me at the thought of my friends back in Seireitei.

Kisuke nods. He stirs his tea with a plastic spoon and takes a sip. "Speaking of Hirako-san, I heard about that Visored Repeal."

"What about it!" I snap, surprised at my own growing apprehension. I shrink away in embarrassment.

"What are your takes on—"

"No. And that's it. Period."

"As expected," Kisuke comments. He pauses for a moment to inspect his drink, his mouth slightly open as if he is about to say something. He adjusts his ridiculous hat. "Hiyori-san?"

"What?" I growl.

"You're more than welcome to stay here, if all goes against your favor." My head snaps up at his words, and I feel something I haven't felt since we decided to join the war. My mind felt clear as day. All those storm clouds cleared away to reveal bright, blue skies and the infinite horizon.

"S-seriously?" I manage, choking on my tongue.

"Of course." Kisuke offers me a smile.

"The hell?" I snort. "Why'd I want to stay in this shitty hellhole with _you_?"

But I watch my old captain suppress a chuckle, and I can't help but hide a grin myself.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'd like to point out one thing: remember when we didn't see much of Yoruichi once Ichigo came back as a Shinigami? My theory is that she went off to do some kind of surveillance mission, so that explains her leaving the shop for a while. Anyways, how'd you like it? Feel free to leave some feedback/comments!**


	20. Favors

**A/N: Yep, the new chapter's out, out, out! Please give it read, and I hope you all enjoy!**

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><p>Chapter Twenty – Favors<p>

It's amazing how people's personalities change over the course of time. Just a few decades ago, Hinamori was that optimistic, energetic neighbor who always brought a fresh watermelon from her garden. Sucking on her bottom lip in deep concentration, she would slice the melon into four quarters—three for Hitsugaya and one for herself—very meticulously, always making sure that the pieces were congruent.

"It doesn't matter," he remarked one day, watching her clean the knife with a tattered rag, probably once a sleeve of an old shirt. "Watermelon's watermelon. No need to be a total freak about it."

Hinamori threw her head back and let out a bright, ringing laugh that stirred the birds from their perches in the trees. She scooped up Hitsugaya's share of the watermelon and dropped the enormous pieces into his lap. "I'm a perfectionist, Shiro-chan. I like doing things right."

He gorged into his first quarter in a matter of seconds, kicking the rind out into the yard and spewing black seeds collected in the pouches of his cheeks into his hand. The black, shining seeds—packages of life and of fresh, juicy delish—glimmered on his palm as the morning sun cast its grin upon them, and he tossed them into the grass. "Momo?"

She took a single bite of her own slice, munching slowly like a cow chewing cud. Swallowing, she nodded. "Yeah, Shiro-chan?"

"Why do you do things so _slow_?" Hitsugaya snorted. He hugged his arms around his knees and glared at his watermelon rind rolling down the hill. It'd be a good idea to fetch that sometime soon or else the neighbors will come banging at Grams's door again, frothing at the mouth with vile complaints. He rolled his eyes. "I mean, come on. You cut watermelon slow. You eat slow. You walk slow. What's up with that?"

"Well," Hinamori said, setting her barely-touched watermelon beside her and leaning back against her elbows. "I could say the opposite for you. You take things too fast, like eating for example." She poked his stomach, and he squirmed away in disgust. Giggling, she sat back up, her finger drawing circles, squares, and other shapes on the worn wooden porch. "It's nice having such a great snacks like watermelon, so why not savor it? We've got all the time in the world! There's no need to wolf down your food like that, silly!"

Hitsugaya scowled and turned away. "That's stupid. The slower you eat, the less time we have to play soccer."

"Just get this. Even though it sounds kind of cheesy, appreciate what you've got at the moment, Shiro-chan. Nothing lasts forever—especially watermelon!"

_Nothing lasts forever_. Hitsugaya never imagined their friendship ending. He always marked it as an exception from that phrase, a one-in-one-million chance discrepancy, a scientific anomaly. But that was merely wishful thinking. All bonds come a breaking point, just as a rubber band can't stretch on forever. Sometimes, they just snap all of a sudden, the reverse-impact throwing both sides backwards onto the ground.

* * *

><p>"It seems that you're awake, Hitsugaya-taichou!" The sound of Urahara Kisuke's voice jerks him out of his bleary daze, and Hitsugaya sits himself up on the dusty mat. The shopkeeper steps over a piece of debris, accompanied by Sarugaki with the usual smirk souring her freckled face.<p>

"'Bout time, midget," she jeers, flashing her teeth and the one incisor that sticks out like a thorn.

Hitsugaya pushes aside the urge to shove her onto the mangled ground. At this point, he should be accustomed to enduring her snarky remarks; they are nothing more than empty words with no purpose whatsoever. A fool will react to such meaningless banter. "Urahara." He regards the grinning man, purposely ignoring his indignant companion. "How long was I out?"

"Oh, no more than fifteen minutes," Urahara replies, leaning on his wooden cane. "But I'm afraid that you must leave at all haste before the Gotei 13 arrive for question, Hitsugaya-taichou."

Hitsugaya tugs down the neckline of his shihakusho. The dark daffodil print that stood as a blatant indicator on his chest had disappeared, leaving only clear, unmarked skin. "It's not Hitsugaya-_taichou_ anymore," he murmurs, stroking the place where that limit had once been. "I guess I'm officially a defector now."

"Yup," Sarugaki huffs. "Now get yer ass up, 'cause we gotta scram. Now!" Without warning, she raises her foot and squints, as if aiming for the perfect spot to hit, but with his cane, Urahara blocks her shin before her kick can make contact with Hitsugaya's face.

"Of course, Hiyori-san," he chuckles. "Always the one to keep us on track."

"But since I'm no longer a captain of the Gotei 13," Hitsugaya says, his hand hovering over the hilt of his Zanpakuto. "That means I can't open a Senkaimon anymore. How are we going to return to Soul Society?"

"I've got that under control." Urahara points to the black remains of the Urahara Shop. "Fortunately, if we can wriggle under that pile of rubble and get down to the underground training room, we can use the Senkaimon I've constructed down there, so no worries."

"That's great," Hitsugaya lets out a breath of relief. He and Sarugaki are undeniable lucky to have ended up at the Urahara Shop, out of all possible places. A location abounding with resources, it provides the ideal place to recuperate and gather valuable information and supplies. Anywhere else, they would've been stuck, hindered by his injuries, and most likely unable to continue pursuing Hinamori.

He picks up Hinamori's armband from beside the mat, tracing the Fifth Division symbol: the lily of the valley. Memories of her bouncing up to him, displaying proof of achieving her long-craven dream, drive into him like needles.

"See, Shiro-chan?" she had proclaimed with pride, stroking the badge. "I did it! I told you that I could do it!"

He tugs his sword off his shoulder and fastens the armband around the hilt of his sword. It may be a hindrance during fighting, swinging around his wrist, possibly distracting him from the fight, but it's a reminder. A reminder to step it up because it's his best friend at stake here. "Urahara, to set the record straight, we're blaming this mess entirely on me, which will explain why I am 'defecting' by leaving my haori here and removing my limiter"

The shopkeeper bows his head. "Ah yes, since that seems to be the best course of action for you—"

"Hold up, now!" Sarugaki steps forward angrily. "Why does he get all the shit landed on him? That ain't fair, makin' him take all the blame! We oughta split it fifty-fifty!"

Urahara places a hand on her shoulder. "I'm afraid he's right, Hiyori-san. With that Visored Repeal going on back in Soul Society, having you 'commit' such crimes as arson and treason will jeopardize the process for Hirako-san and everyone else. It's best if Hitsugaya-taichou, er, Hitsugaya-_san_ takes over this."

"Hmph, whatever," the Visored sniffs. "I'm gonna help that Jinta brat clear away some crap so we can go into yer dungeon." She twists out of Urahara's grasp, crosses her arms, and stomps away, swearing furiously beneath her breath.

A wispy smile passes over Urahara's tired features as he watches Sarugaki march off and wave a fist at his young attendants. "Hiyori-san," he says softly. "It's been a while since I've seen her. She _was_ my lieutenant, you know. Back about a hundred years ago."

"Really?" Hitsugaya's eyes widen. "When you were captain of the Twelfth?"

"Certainly! She and Kurotsuchi-san had a bit of a rivalry, I must say, but those were the good, old days." The shopkeeper winks but his expression turns serious. "Back to what we were discussing. Are you absolutely sure that you want to carry through with this, having the Gotei 13 come after you? There's no need to take this upon yourself."

"There's no way I'm letting them go after Hinamori," Hitusgaya responds firmly. The confidence in his own voice surprises him, and he smiles. "And that's final."

"As you wish." Urahara rubs his stubbly chin, and he lifts his face towards the bleary sky. "Hitsugaya-san? May I ask you a personal favor?"

"Uh, sure. What is it?"

Urahara turns, observing the commotion at the ruins of his home: Tessai holds two kicking and screaming individuals—Sarugaki and Jinta—by the scruffs of their necks, solemnly berating them while Ururu nonchalantly blasts the debris apart nearby with a cannon hefted over her shoulder. "Hiyori-san," he speaks. "Please make sure Hiyori-san doesn't do anything too reckless. She's a strong-willed fighter, but sometimes, she lets instinct prevail over strategy, which may ultimately lead to…" His voice trails off as Sarugaki yanks herself out of Tessai's hold and spits nasty profanity at the squirming Jinta.

"No need to explain," Hitsugaya replies, watching impassively. "Although I can't promise that, I'll make sure to do my best."

Urahara laughs quietly. "That's just fine."

* * *

><p>Urahara tosses a small object to Hitsugaya. He catches it nimbly in his palm: it is a rusty switchblade, its handle riddled with strange bite marks and scratches. "It's a key to a one-time-use mini-Senkaimon that'll get you immediately to District 59 in North Rukongai, which is your starting point!" Urahara explains. "It'll save you a lot of time, so be sure not to lose it!"<p>

"Thanks." Hitusgaya pockets the small blade and readjusts his Zanpakuto against his shoulder. "That makes things somewhat easier."

Urahara nods. "Don't mention it. Well, I hope you're ready." He taps his wooden cane against the desert earth of the underground training room, and with a deafening roar, the gate behind him rears open, a dark dimension swirling within its enormous frame. "Now heed Yoruichi-san's warnings about the Onmitskido!" he shouts over the scream of the Senkaimon. "And you're good to go! Best of luck, you two!"

"Ready, midget?" Sarugaki hollers.

He nods.

Taking the lead, Sarugaki sprints into the void, and Hitsugaya follows, gripping the hilt of his sword and wrapping his fingers securely around the badge of Hinamori's armband. Exchanged his tenure as a captain. Leaving his haori at Urahara's shop. He's done all this for his lost best friend, with all intention of bringing her back home.

The Senkaimon swallows them in one gulp and upon an instant, falls silent. The alternate dimension disappears in a flash, leaving not a hint of the two defectors of Soul Society.

* * *

><p>"Urahara Kisuke." Her feet pace back and forth across the wreckage of the shop, kicking aside a charred rock here and there, leaving a muddled strip of footprints in the grubby ground. That's how she likes it best: an ambiguous trail with no lead or end. Having not a hint of where her target is provides a real challenge, something that doesn't pop up all the time nowadays.<p>

She swivels forward to face the despicable man who was the source of her abandonment. He is dishonest, fraudulent, and downright lazy. To think that such a man had deprived her of Yoruichi's pride? Absolutely disgraceful.

"Urahara Kisuke," she repeats.

"Yes, Soi Fon-taichou," he replies, offering her a grin. "What's the occasion?"

That flippantness. That tone clearing indicating that he doesn't take things seriously. Soi Fon cannot stand men like that. Men must stay serious and professional, not carefree and distracted because otherwise, accomplishing a task is by far, _impossible_. Urahara is one amongst a boatload of men she won't hesitate to cast into an acidic lake. Hirako Shinji. Kurosaki Ichigo. Her own lieutenant, Omaeda.

"Have you detected any presence of former Tenth Division captain Hitsugaya Toshiro? He has removed his captain's limit at this very location." She searches the detested shop owner's face for any clue of falsehood. The twitch of the mouth. The shift of the eyes.

"Why, yes I did!" Urahara exclaims. "You're holding the proof right there, in fact!" He gestures towards the torn Tenth Division haori sitting in Omaeda's hands awaiting further inspection.

"Have you detected any presence of Visored Sarugaki Hiyori?" Soi Fon spits the blonde girl's name with utter spite. Sarugaki was absolutely impudent towards her countless times, and the incident in the hospital lobby surges back into her mind with the force of a geyser.

"No, I don't think so," Urahara answers.

"No?" Soi Fon frowns. "Because we sense her very presence here." She kicks at a seat cushion by the coffee table, and her lieutenant retrieves the object as evidence.

The shop owner sighs, kneading his temples. "Well, it's been a crazy morning, I'll admit. I wouldn't have noticed anything, due to the pandemonium. We were too occupied trying to get ourselves out of the place and set up a barrier to prevent human interaction. Hitsugaya-taichou attacked and left before we could event retaliate."

"What happened to your shop," Soi Fon demands, turning her head towards the remains.

"As I said before, we were attacked by someone who strongly resembled Hitsugaya-taichou. They completely destroyed the shop, and it seems they were in search of something. And they found it."

"What was he searching for?"

"I don't know. I was restrained, but Tessai-san managed to free me."

"Is that so?" Soi Fon squints at the tall, bronze Tessai, soberly awaiting his own round of questioning. "And before I move on, have you sensed any presence of former Fifth Division lieutenant, Hinamori Momo? She has also removed her limit at this very location before disappearing altogether."

"I don't think so. I have no idea who Hinamori Momo is."

"Very well," Soi Fon sighs. "Omaeda, finish questioning the rest of these people and prepare the men to advance back into Soul Society. We are going to need to set up a plan to find these three defectors."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: How'd you all like it? Please leave a review and tell me what you think! What can be improved and whatnot would be a real help to me as writer! Thanks!**

**By the way, is anyone else digging this Toshiro/Hiyori pairing as much as I do? Feel free to check out "The Rukongai Games," a spin off of the Suzanne Collins's _The Hunger Games_, with looks of Toshiro/Hiyori goodness to come! I'd appreciate it if you guys take a quick peek at it and tell me what you think! Once again, thanks for all the support!**


	21. Swarm

**A/N: Hey guys, new update! I hope you guys enjoy this one because I found it be great fun to write!**

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-One – Swarm<strong>

"Where the hell are we?" Sarugaki mutters, stepping wearily out of the Senkaimon. "I hate goin' through that damn Dangai. For one, I always get jetlag, and also, there's no tellin' when those stupid fuzz-ball things zoom in on ya, an' once they do, yer screwed!"

Hitsugaya scans the terrain, wincing as a beam of sunlight glares through the foliage above and strikes his line of vision. It seems to be late afternoon here in Soul Society, which can only mean that they've lost several hours in the Dangai. Lush forest surrounds them, glowing a salubrious green, granting his roving eyes much-needed relaxation. "I think I've been here," he says, kicking at the soft, loamy soil at his feet. To his surprise, a disturbed earthworm wriggles out of the ground, inching away in annoyance.

"Then where are we, since ya seem like such a know-it-all?" Sarugaki replies bluntly.

"_Know-it-all?_ I never said that," Hitsugaya grumbles. "I grew up in Junrinan, District 1 of West Rukongai, so I know this area pretty well. Looks like District 2 to me."

He notices the small burbling brook in the distance, and memories of traveling to the peaceful settlement nearby every Sunday with Hinamori and his grandmother revisit his mind. They would purchase some amanatto from a familiar merchant, exchange a few words with him, and sit by the brook, munching on the heavenly beans and laughing about the peculiar newcomers in town. Once the sack of candy flopped empty on the ground, he and Hinamori would wade into the sparkling water and try to catch the slippery eel with their bare hands, in high hopes for a savory unagi dinner.

"Then again, it doesn't matter where we are," Sarugaki announces, marching forward on the weathered path. "Let's find a bombed-out place an' use that key Kisuke gave us."

"Fine by me," Hitsugaya grits out, hurrying to match the Visored's fervent steps.

As they meander through the gnarled oaks and birches, accompanied by the chattering songbirds littering the branches above, more and more locations trigger Hitsugaya's memories. The small grove of pine trees that provided excellent hiding spots for birds' eggs. The boulder shaped like the wrinkly face of an old man. The abandoned cabin with fat grape vines clambering up its black walls. It just occurs to him that he shared all of these experiences with Hinamori.

Sarugaki suddenly stops. "Wait." She reaches behind her and draws out her blade, readily positioning it in front of her.

"What is it?" Hitsugaya's hand instantly snaps to the hilt of Hyorinmaru.

The Visored slowly takes a step forward, her flip-flopped feet barely making a sound. "Midget, don't move," she hisses, shooting him a meaningful glance. She cups her hand around her mouth and in a louder voice, she calls out, "Hey, bitch! Feel free t'show yourself! Otherwise, I'm gonna drag ya outta those trees myself!"

Hitsugaya's eyes shift to the foliage above. The birds that have been singing them along have _vanished_. Suddenly, a shrub shakes softly, and Soi Fon materializes from the green. With the grace of a housecat, she leaps onto the path.

"Sarugaki Hiyori," the Second Division captain remarks scornfully. "How did you find out I was following you?"

Sarugaki takes a faltering glance up at the sky. Hitsugaya blinks; it has suddenly become a low carpet of overcast clouds. Wasn't it bright and sunny not a moment before? "That ain't any of yer beeswax!" Sarugaki snaps. "Get outta the way, bitch!"

"I'm afraid I can't, Sarugaki," Soi Fon replies, raising a hand. Immediately, dark-clad figures surround them, stationing themselves not only on the ground but up in the trees as well. Omaeda flash-steps behind her, sword at his side. "I'm here to take you two to Seireitei for your heinous crimes."

"Crimes?" Hitsugaya repeats.

"You, Hitsugaya Toshiro, have committed treason by removing your limiter in addition to assaulting and injuring the guardian of the Black Ridge Gate _and _assaulting and vandalizing the settlement of Urahara Issue," Soi Fon says, shifting on her feet. She points her blade at Sarugaki. "And you, Sarugaki Hiyori, have assaulted countless Fourth Division members including Kotetsu-fukutaichou during your stay at the hospital."

Sarugaki's eyes widen, but she quickly regains her composure. "Well, yeah."

"You may come along quietly, and perhaps the Soutaichou may lessen your punishment—"

"No," Sarugaki spits. "I'm never gonna freely let _you_ order me 'round."

Tension stabilizes the atmosphere like one of Kurotsuchi Mayuri's biological agents, and the reiatsu of the two petite fighters flare upwards and out. The bitterness in their eyes burn poisonously. Hitsugaya braces himself, keeping his focus on the Onmitsukido members surrounded them.

"Alright then," Soi Fon says simply. "It seems that I will have to bring you two in myself. Oh, and Hitsugaya?" He raises his eyes apprehensively. "I'd never think that someone of your caliber would stoop so low as to collaborate with _her_." She smirks and disappears.

"Behind you!" Hitsugaya hisses.

"I know!" Sarugaki blocks Soi Fon's punch with the indigo sheathe of her sword. "Hitsugaya! You get these grunts outta the way! I want the bitch!"

"You do realize that Soi Fon is a captain-level—"

"Fuck off!" Sarugaki throws the Onmitsukido commander to the ground, but before she can land a hit, Soi Fon disappears. Growling, she sheathes her Zanpakuto and sinks down to a fighter's stance. "I ain't too bad with hand-to-hand combat! Now cover me!"

"Okay," Hitsugaya responds uneasily. "Sit upon the frozen heavens, Hyorinmaru!"

An Onmitsukido member swishes behind him, aiming a kick at his unprotected back. _Damn, they're fast!_ Hitsugaya flash-steps away towards a clearer area, but upon arrival, his blade clashes against the assault of another assassin. Six more fighters burst from the trees, wielding their double-bladed daggers. Pushing away the first assassin, Hitsugaya slashes a wide arc around him. A jagged crest of ice barrels into the Onmitskido members, knocking them twitching to the ground.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sarugaki and Soi Fon spar, throwing punches and kicks with exact accuracy. However, the Visored seems overwhelmed, defending herself more rather than landing blows. And Soi Fon doesn't look the least bit challenged.

Before he can react, a blade whizzes right by Hitsugaya's face, opening a shallow wound above his eyebrow. Blood floods over his left side vision, and as much as he is tempted to spare a split-second and wipe away the fluid, he bites his tongue and resists the urge. He blocks the onslaught of attacks from a swarm of fighters with an icy slash and trips two attackers with the chain and sickle at the hilt of his blade.

_How many more of them are there?_

He can't tell from peering into the shrubbery; the dark skies have cast shadows on the forest, rending every plant and tree dark and misleading. Hitsugaya winces as more blood trickles down his left eyelid. It's so difficult to fight in these surroundings where enemies specializing in ambush lurk in innumerable hiding places the forest provides—he grins.

"Bankai!" he shouts. Ice builds up his arms and across his shoulders, and the familiar freezing touch of Hyorinmaru sends a shiver down his spine. "Daiguren Hyorinmaru!"

Hitsugaya rockets up into the air, grips his sword heftily, and swings forward. "Hyoryu Senbi!"

An enormous crescent of ice tears across the ground, uprooting trees and bushes in its wake. In the distance, Sarugaki and Soi Fon pause from their fight and swiftly flash-step away before the wave of destruction reaches them. Sarugaki materializes beneath Hitsugaya.

"Midget! The hell are ya doin'?" she snarls, but Soi Fon whisks beside her and fires a punch, starting off again from where they temporarily ended.

Having the area cleared of all forestry, shoving it all into a glacier half a mile away and leaving only ripped ground, Hitsugaya lands on his feet, surveying the damage. The attack should've caught the Onmitsukido by surprise and blown away the remaining members. Heaving a deep breath, his rubs away the thickening blood from his eye, blinking as tears sooth the irritant, and flash-steps near Sarugaki's fight.

"Get outta here, midget!" the blonde gasps, taking a blow to the gut. She keels over, sucking in ragged breathes, her reflexes throwing forth a knee against Soi Fon's shin. "I'm f-fine!"

"Crush, Gegetsuburi!" A spiked ball hurtles itself towards his feet, and Hitsugaya leaps backwards, meeting the plump face of Omaeda Marechiyo.

"Sorry, Hitsugaya-san, but I'm doing my job," the lieutenant grunts, twirling the flail with a flick of his wrist.

"Omaeda!" Soi Fon barks. "Fight Sarugaki! We'll be better matched up—"

"Hell no!" Sarugaki launches a kick to her shoulder. A sickening crack echoes across the space. "Are ya implyin' that I'm too strong fer ya?"

"Just the opposite." Soi Fon spins around, her elbow meeting Sarugaki's narrow chest. The blonde gasps, flying backwards. "I'll admit that you are a decent fighter, Sarugaki, able to hold your own against me. You have a lot of strength for someone your size and weight. In fact, if I were using my Shikai, you'd probably still be alive. But this fighting is unnecessary. Let's just end this, shall we? I will knock you out this instant and bring your feeble body back to Seireitei to be brought to justice."

With a flick of his sword, Hitsugaya slashes another arc of ice directed towards an incoming Omaeda, freezing him to his spot. "Shit," he breathes, jerking himself forward. Not that.

Soi Fon's signature technique. The attack whispered throughout Rukongai to be absolutely lethal. Shunko. The Second Division captain flings her haori aside, revealing the unique Executive Militia Corps Commander keisen uniform without a back or sleeves. In a quick, sharp motion, she cocks her arm back and discharged Kido surges into her arms and legs like an electric current. Sarugaki's eyes widen as she staggers to her feet.

"This will end in seconds," Soi Fon announces. "It's a shame I cannot kill you, you impudent Visored, because I have not forgotten what happened in that hospital lobby. However, you are lucky that I am generous enough to lay that off for this mission—"

"Soi Fon!" Hitsugaya aims his sword directly at her open back. "I'll be your opponent—"

"Once I eliminate her from the pool." Without another word, Soi Fon flashes forward. She rears back her Kido-infused arm. "_Shun_—"

"_Ryusenka!_" Driving his Zanpakuto towards the Second Division captain, Hitsugaya begs for time to be on his side as ice erupts from the end of his blade, expanding outward over Sarugaki and Soi Fon. Dust from the ground swirls upwards the second the impact of the two turbulent attacks hit their targets, obscuring Hitsugaya's surroundings in a brown smog.

Eyes watering and choking as the dust enters his lungs, he forces himself to move. Hacking coughs constrict his chest. His eyes sting vehemently. At last the smog clears—revealing an enormous ice flower blossoming before his eyes. Hitsugaya scrambles to the scene, but the sight drops him to his knees. He was too late. Frozen in the flower are both Soi Fon, finished through with her attack, and Sarugaki, bleeding furiously at her upper torso.

"No," Hitsugaya breathes. Deactivating his Bankai, the ice wings enveloping his shoulders break away in pieces before disappearing altogether. He slices away the coffin of ice containing Sarugaki's injured body, carefully setting it onto the ground. Willing the ice to melt, he taps the tip of his sword against the chunk gentle. Instantly, it liquefies, leaving a drenched Sarugaki quivering in a pool of near-freezing water.

"Sarugaki!" Hitsugaya kneels by her side, frantically searching the scene for something to keep her warm. He spies Soi Fon's abandoned haori, and without a second thought, retrieves it, wrapping the light cloth around her racking shoulders.

"D-don't!" she protests. "I don't wanna touch her stupi—" The Visored gags and coughs out a glob thick scarlet blood. Panting, she presses a hand to her ravaged abdomen, and a strangled cry escapes her throat.

"You need to stay warm," Hitsugaya asserts, trying to pull off an expression of confidence, but his voice shakes uncontrollably. The blood flow from Sarugaki's torso is too heavy. At this rate, she'll be dead in at most an hour. Ignoring her complaint, he cuts off several strips of Soi Fon's haori. "Sit up a bit."

Sarugaki winces. "Wh-why should I l-listen to you?" But she obliges, slightly leaning forward as Hitsugaya wraps the makeshift bandages around her severe wound, biting back screams of pain.

At contact with her would, the white cloth immediately seeps bright red. _I need more bandages,_ Hitsugaya thinks, glancing at his own haori sleeve. But Sarugaki seems to have read his mind. "U-use the r-rest o' this stupid captain's h-haori," she offered. "B-better seein' it ripped t'shreds than bein' worn on me. Trust me, I'm used t'survivin' the cold."

"Is that so?" Hitsugaya murmurs. He helps Sarugaki out of the "blanket" and proceeds to shredding it into long strips of wet cloth. His hands are stained red with her blood, but he was never really afraid of gore; that was Hinamori. He scans the destroyed ground, courtesy of himself, around him. "We need to get you to help, but where?"

"I'll be f-fine," Sarugaki snorts, but another fit of coughing overwhelms her, her body convulsing vigorously. "D-dammit, I've been through worse b'fore. Don'tcha remember what happened not too long ago?"

"Of course," Hitsugaya replies, raising an eyebrow. "I'd hope that getting sliced clean in half doesn't seem more appealing than getting hit in the gut by Soi Fon."

"Shaddap, ya baldy." A vile grin passes Sarugaki's bloodied mouth. "You'd never know."

To the east, a small path trails into the woods untouched by his Bankai, and Hitsugaya's mind jumps to fantasizing about afternoon hikes. He mentally kicks himself to stay focused on the matter at hand. "Wait."

"What?" Sarugaki mumbles blearily. Her eyelids droop slowly but snap back open in an effort to stay awake—and to stay alive. "Spit it…out, midget."

"I'm not a midget," he replies wistfully, staring at the path. "But I think I know where we can go."

"An' where the hell's…" Sarugaki's voice trails off. Her eyes drift closed.

"Sarugaki!" Hitsugaya nudges her awake. "Stay strong for just a little bit longer! I know where we can go!" He scoops her limp body into his arms, swinging her Zanpakuto over his own shoulder by its sheathe strap.

"What the hell?" she moans. "Let go o' me…pervert. An' get yer damn hands off my sword."

Hitsugaya rolls his eyes at her bleak comments. Careful not to disrupt her hastily treated wound, he takes off full speed towards the woods, halfway running, halfway flash-stepping. "Keep it up, Sarugaki," he says quietly. "We're going to visit someone I haven't seen for a very long time."

"Get yer hands…off of…me…_pervert_."

"Please don't call me that for a little while. We're going to be seeing my Baa-chan, and I don't she'd like to hear that about me."

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><p><strong>AN: Well, how'd you all like it? Feel free to leave some feedback in the comment section below! I'd really appreciate it!**


	22. To Grandmother's House We Go

**A/N: It's been a little while since I've updated, and I'm terribly sorry! But I'm back now, so we're going to be get back on track now! A shout-out to Aurelia Artemee and Levvychan for helping me out with this! Thanks so much, guys!**

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Two – To Grandmother's House We Go<strong>

It never occurred to me that Soi Fon might actually be _stronger_ than me. I mean, sure, she's a captain. Not to mention head of the Executive Militia and commander-in-chief of a bunch of other organizations—but still. I've never had any doubts about my own abilities. However, if there's one thing, I know my limits. And it seems like I've met the climax of my Hakuda skills today.

Ever since my days in the Shinigami Academy, I've been known to be pretty adept at hand-to-hand combat. Heck, I could even make a 6'7'' douche bag cry easily with only half a minute on the floor. From the moment I demonstrated that bit of my power, all my classmates seemed to shy away from me. They began to lower their eyes whenever I marched past—well, except Lisa. She always buried herself in her porn magazines. That was when I realized that I was actually _intimidating_.

Being referred to as _intimidating_ was just amazing. For once, I felt like I made my mark on the status ladder. And I experienced something amazing: I was respected! People began acknowledging me, seeing me not as "the midget who always threw tantrums" or "the chick who fucking sucks at Kido," but as "the girl who can and will kick your ass in Hakuda class." I gushed with pride and stood up straight as a plank at the mention of that title.

I was good at physically fighting in general. My Zanjutsu earned me great grades in swordsmanship. My Shunpo was decent. My Kido—not so much, but that's beside the point. I started gaining other fearsome titles, but I always held my first—my achievement in Hakuda—the closest to my heart. Being "the girl who can and will kick your ass in Hakuda class" had initiated my rep.

But an itch always nagged at the back of my mind, reminding me that I owed it all to Pa. Pa and his neurotic obsession with training.

My aching head bonks against Hitsugaya's chest as he carries me off somewhere—some aunt's house or something—and I can't shake the thought of Pa out of my head. And those branches dripping with rainwater that lash against my arms and legs? They don't help shake away the memories either. His clean-shaven angular face, those cheekbones so defined I was sometimes scared that they'd pop smack out of his skin. He was a sharp man of cutting principles. Let those principles slash open a wound on your skin, and you're in for the Lashes.

The Lashes were the most humiliating punishment out there, right next to running an extra 5K or swimming another 5,000 meters instead of eating meals. At around nine in the evening, Pa would shackle the problem student to a wooden stump. It once served as a signpost directing newbies around to the lake, trail, training field, or wherever they needed to be. Then Pa would direct every single camper to conjoin into an observation ring around the post. He'd give that kid a chance to confess to his problems; loudly so even the youngsters jumping up and down at the outermost parts of the ring could hear. The poor kid would practically have to holler his lungs out.

The next part was below human. Boys took off their shirts, and the girls were permitted to wear their sports bras. Raising that long bullwhip, Pa would count to ten, allowing the kid time to run as far as he possibly could before the chain on his leg trips him to the ground. Standing from a single spot within the kid's circle, Pa demonstrated his masterful skill with his damned whip. One hundred lashes that always hit bare skin. It never mattered how adept you were at ducking, weaving, and dodging. You'd get hit.

Some of us have experienced the Lashes so many times that we knew the routine and have developed tricks to stake out the beating. My brother Kyo claimed that it was useless to stay in one spot to endure the entire hundred lashes; that it just made them triple the pain. My sister Kari suggested counting off a beat, "one and two, one and two," to brace against the pain. Shinji told me that it was best to break The Hundred into ten sets of ten.

"Take them ten atta time," he'd say. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten. That's one set down. Nine more t'go b'fore you're done. It's just like swimming sets in the lake an' takin' the workout one set atta time. Makes it seem not as long and painful, eh?"

"Midget?" I moan, blinking raindrops out of my eyes. Or at least I _think_ they're raindrops. By this point, my brain is screaming to dissolve into a muddled goop and seep out through my nose like those exotic ancient humans from Egypt. However my willpower stomps on it roughly, forcing it to congeal itself and stay strong.

Hitsugaya glances down at me with a glint of irritation in his eyes. "Even when you're gravely injured, you still insist on calling me that derogatory phrase," he mutters, ducking under a branch. But his face, once pissed at the nickname, softens slightly. "What's the matter?"

_What's the matter?_ Those were some of the last words after Lash No. 99 of The Hundred. Pa would saunter over from his stationary spot for the first 99 lashes and stoop low over your body, whispering those words in your swollen ear. What's the matter, Yori-chan? Got beat in Hakuda? You should look at Kyo an' Kari, both far superior to you, ya runt. Grow up some.

A ravaged scream claws out of my throat, threatening to slice down my vocal cords. Rivulets of pain shoot down my abdomen like little whiplashes. Hearing my cry, Hitsugaya holds me tighter to his chest and switches to Shunpo. Trees and shrubs whiz past in streaks of olives, emeralds, coffees, and mahoganies. Lightning sears across the dark sky as the long-awaited thunder booms in the clouds.

"Come on, Sarugaki," the midget orders, inclining his head to rub a bead of sweat off the side of his cheek with his shoulder. Even as he did this, he was still careful not to disrupt my wound in his grip. "We're almost there. Ten more minutes. You can hold for ten more minutes, can't you?"

Ten more miles. It reminded me of Kyo when we passed the crashing waterfall during our daily morning run. You can hold for ten more stinkin' miles, can'tcha, Yori-chan?

Where are all these memories coming from? I count to ten—ten sets of ten—to clear my thoughts. One. The hellish youth soldier camp of 85. Two. The Lashes. Three. The three-hour runs through the woods. Four. The two-hour swims in the lake. Five. The barracks. Six. Melee training. Seven. Shunpo and Kido. Eight. Pa. Nine. Kyo. Ten. Kari.

"_Forget this," Shinji says bitterly, throwing a final glance at the ravaged mountain. "Let's get the hell outta this place. We'll… keep on movin' forward like she wanted us to."_

_I nodded, refusing to look at the place I called _home_ for my entire life. "Where are we gonna go?"_

"_I'm not sure," he sighs, chewing on his thumbnail. "There really aren't that many places that're safe out here."_

"_What d'ya mean?"_

"_Listen, this place that your dad called '85' really shouldn't exist, Hiyori. What he's doin' is illegal, so he's gone to the boundaries of Rukongai to do this shit. If we get into District 80, maybe we'll find—wait!" Shinji peers out into the distance, his eyes squinting in concentration. "I know where we can go."_

"_Where?" I demand._

"_Seireitei."_

"_Seireitei?"_

_There's nothin' left for us t'do, so let's go to Seireitei." Shinji kicks his Zanpakuto spinning into his hand. "How does bein' a Shinigami sound t'ya?"_

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><p>They are on the path he knows like the back of his hand. It's a trail blazed by cream-colored pebbles. He and Hinamori always took handfuls of them to build little castles with twigs and leaves; a haven to the worms trying to escape the crazy bullets of rain from above. Sarugaki has fallen limp again, dipping in and out of consciousness, but her bleeding seems to have slowed down to a light trickle dribbling over Hitsugaya's fingers.<p>

She looked absolutely crashed. Whether it was due to her lashes or not, dark circles gripped beneath her eyes, maturing her girlish looks up about five years or so. Cuts and bruises nestled themselves in her cheeks and neck, several leaking little drips of blood like a broken faucet. Her matted-down hair gently whips against his forearms as he takes each flash-step. That's when he notices that her pigtails have fallen loose, freeing her blonde hair into long, willowy locks.

Hitsugaya skids to a stop before the house, taking a moment to catch his breath. He was fortunate as a child to live under a roof, unlike those far-out districts like the 60's and 70's where children were lucky enough to survive to adulthood. Grams's place has weathered white walls, grayed by the wind and rain. It's seemingly evening, and a dim light shines through the sliding doors. She's probably making herself dinner and tea right now before settling in for a late night read.

"Hey, Sarugaki." He nudges her gently. One of her thin legs jerk in surprise against his arm, and her eyes slowly open.

"The hell d'ya want, midget?" she whispers. Raindrops splatter against her face, and she grunts in protest. A round of lightning flashes over the house accompanied by a clap of thunder. Her mouth twists into a faltering sneer. "Still touchin' me, eh? What a fuckin' dickhead you are."

Hitsugaya sighs. It's pointless; the name is probably stuck along with the other insults she constantly fires off at him. Midget, baldy, pervert, dickface, just to name a few. Only about ten percent of the time does her mind swivels into the right direction, and she calls him by his actual name. "Seriously, we're at my grandmother's house, and if she hears you calling me stuff like that, I'll be in for it."

"Tch, whatever," Sarugaki replies quietly. She buries her face in his shihakusho, wincing as the raindrops hit the side of her face and her ear. "Yer in for it, midget, when this mess on my stomach goes away. Touch me again like this…" She falls silent.

Hitsugaya rolls his eyes and makes his way across the muddy front yard to the porch he sat on countless times, devouring watermelon like a pig. A flash of green peeks out from beneath the porch, pricking his curiosity. To Hitsugaya's amusement, a small patch of watermelon thrives in the shadowy alcove. It must be because of hocking back and spewing seeds rapid-fire onto the ground.

Tentatively raising a hand, he knocks on the screen door quietly, watching the shadow from the dim light lift itself up. Sarugaki whimpers, biting down on her bottom lip as she twitches in pain.

"You'll be fine," Hitsugaya whispers.

The screen door opens, and a petite elderly woman blinks in surprise. "Why, what do we have here? Is that you, Toshiro-kun?"

"Grams." Hitsugaya smiles and shakes the rain out of his face. "It's been a while."

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><p>"I'm afraid there really isn't much I can do," Grams remarks, wrapping clean bandages around Sarugaki's abdomen. "I've cleaned her up, washed the wound, and applied basic first aid. I'm afraid that I'm not familiar with the healing Kido you Shinigami use."<p>

Together, they watch the rise and fall of the Visored's chest as she sleeps. The candle beside her flickers odd shadows across her freckled face that spin up the bridge of her nose and drift down to her chin.

Hitsugaya picks at a piece of dried blood beneath his fingernail, absently staring at the bowl of amanatto set beside his feet. "Grams, thank you for letting us stay here."

His grandmother laughs, setting a gnarled hand on his knee. "Of course! You haven't visited me for a while. Then again, you're a captain, so I presume you must be busy all the time. How are things going in Seireitei? And how is Momo-chan doing?"

Hitsugaya doesn't answer for a moment. "Grams, I can't tell you everything that's happening, but I'll let you know that there are some…" He glares at the candle, hedging for the droplet of wax inching down its length to splatter at the bottom of the candleholder. "There are some _complications_ back in Seireitei."

"Complications?" Grams frowns, pouring herself a cup of tea. "How so?"

"Well, Hinamori…"

"Has something happened to Momo-chan?" she inquires.

"Hinamori…we're looking for Hinamori," he sighs. "She's gone somewhere, and we're looking for here—even though we're really not supposed to."

"Not supposed to?" Grams' classic form of punishment. She'd ask him what he did wrong and make him further explain his misdoings.

"That's where things get complicated. Sorry, Grams," he rubs his tired face, "I can't explain because I need to keep you safe. Heck, I shouldn't even be here. The Onmitsukido will—"

"I am your grandmother," Grams replies firmly. "_I_ should be keeping _you_ safe until the day I die, Toshiro-kun. You are welcome here at home anytime, no matter the circumstances. Now it seems you'll be here for a while until your friend can walk again."

"No," Hitsugaya responds immediately. "I can't endanger you by stay—"

"Toshiro-kun," his grandmother cuts in gently. "You're friend is gravelly injured. It will take at _least_ a few days before she can get going again. I suggest you stay and rest up for the remainder of your search." Her lips turn up in a small smile. "Now tell me, who is this particular girl? I've never heard you talk about someone like her before."

Hitsugaya shifts in his spot. "Well," he hesitates, "she's a…friend. Her name is Sarugaki Hiyori." His cheeks burn at the impropriety of talking about the Visored. Does he have any right to say that? Sarugaki is an acquaintance, someone he happens to be _stuck_ with. Not a friend.

Grams nods. "Hiyori-chan, I suppose?" She folds her hands in her lap and regards the girl with her motherly gaze. "She's very pretty, Toshiro-kun."

His stomach does somersaults, and he bites his tongue. All he sees in Sarugaki Hiyori is a foul-mouthed girl who won't hesitate to beat him with her flip-flop. She is reckless, temperamental, and even intimidating. _Pretty_, just a dainty and soft word, is the last thing he'd think of when describing her. Hitsugaya scrunches up his face.

His grandmother laughs at his expression. "Come on, Toshiro-kun. Look at her. You don't see that many naturally beautiful girls nowadays, do you?"

Natural beauty. Sure, Sarugaki doesn't seem to lather on the make up, adorn herself in fashionable clothing, or tease her hair into ridiculous textures like Matsumoto did every morning. Despite her fiery demeanor, she's actually fairly modest—especially while being asleep. Her resting face devoid of her usual scowling, taunting, or hollering, Sarugaki seems more… approachable.

"I guess, Grams." He lets a subtle smile grace his lips before turning away to listen to the pattering of rain and whirl of wind. He sighs, "I guess."

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><p><strong>AN: How'd you all like it? Please leave a review! Oh, and I have IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENTS!**

**First thing is: I've made a Tumblr account centered around my FF account, so please, please, please follow me for sneak-peeks, update information, and other things! I'd so appreciate if you guys did so! My URL is self-deprecating person dot Tumblr dot com! Thanks! Cyber cookies to anyone who follows me!**

**Next thing: I need all of your opinions, so can you all stop by my profile and answer that poll that I've put up? Which spelling do you all prefer? "Vizard," "visored," or "vaizard"? Please, please, please leave me an answer! Sorry for the long note! I appreciate the support!**


	23. Define Childhood

**A/N: I know, it's been a while! However, to spare the petty details, I'm back on track! I've got news though... I'm taking a temporary break on this fic to clear some things up, BUT I've got in store some more HitsuYori goodness if you guys are liking this pairing as much as I do. "Trains." That's what I'm calling my in-progress fic at the moment. Keep an eye out for "Trains."**

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Three – Define Childhood<strong>

I wake up to the smell of hot soup and… Is that watermelon? A tatami mat lies beneath my back and there's a roof above my head. Grunting, I lift my head up. My eyes rove around the single-room home. It's not large—furniture is sparse and only a few windows exhibit the dreary weather outside—but it has a nice, homely feel to it. There are clean, stark white bandages over my abdomen. It's as if someone just changed them five minutes ago.

"Why, it seems like you're finally awake!" I whip my head towards a soft voice that's coming from behind me. With tiny footsteps, little old lady teeters to my side with a bowl of steaming soup in her hands. "Are you hungry? I made watercress soup."

"Who the hell are you?" I try to hoist myself up to a sitting position, but my wound pins me back down to my elbows. Gritting my teeth, I mentally curse my Inner Hollow. If only I could've used my mask; then I wouldn't be in this stupid position in the first place! Soi Fon's attack wouldn't have even scratched me.

"Don't force yourself too much." The lady helps me lie back down. "We don't want to risk reopening your wound, do we?" Her voice has a warm, tender tone to it. It reminds of my first captain, Hikifune. Without protest, I open my mouth as she feeds me spoonfuls of the hot soup.

"As to answer your first question," the lady says, spoon hovering halfway to my mouth. It waits for me to swallow. "I am Toshiro-kun's grandmother."

I frown. There's as much resemblance between the midget and his grandma as there is between a porcupine and a freaking eel. Warmth radiates off this lady like a fireplace; frost emanates off her grandson like a refrigerator. "Really," I blurt out without thinking.

The lady sets the bowl and spoon beside her lap and chuckles softly. "We got that a lot back when Toshiro-kun lived here as a child. But believe me, it's true." She smiles without revealing any teeth. "If I'm not mistaken, you're Hiyori-chan?"

"Uh, yeah," I manage, pushing back a strand of straggly blonde hair. Seems like I lost most of my barrettes and both hair ties for my pigtails back in the fight. "By the way, where's the midge—I mean, _Hitsugaya_."

Hitsugaya's grandma turns her head towards the screen door. "He took the biggest kitchen knife I had and went out on the porch to slice up some watermelon. I guess he hasn't lost his love for it even after all these years!" She sighs and stands up on her creaky knees. "I'm afraid I'll have to go out to do some grocery shopping. Toshiro-kun will get you whatever you need."

I close my eyes. Footsteps click away. The door slides open. Rain hammers against the ground. A knife slices through fruit. Voices converse. The door slides closed.

How the hell did I get myself here? I lie on the tatami mat, staring bleakly at the ceiling. Of course, it all started with that bitch of an Inner Hollow terrorizing my night's sleep. Then I harassed Hinamori over Aizen, and she fell into some kind of medical condition resembling a heart attack. Hours later, she miraculously came out of the ER good as new. My Hollow barged into my dreams again in order to formally state that she was ditching me with my Zanpakuto. Hinamori left. I became tied up with the midget. Kisuke's place. Soi Fon's attack. And now—I'm here.

It's been one hell of week: a massive understatement for sure.

"Sarugaki." I open my eyes. The midget stands over me, hefting a heaping plate of watermelon cubes in his hands. "Are you feeling better?"

"What are you talking about?" I snort, raising my head to throw him a scowl. "I can't even walk around this place, much less pick myself up."

Hitsugaya narrows his eyes. "I guess that's a 'no' then." Before I can respond, he runs a hand through his damp hair and offers me the plate of fruit. "There's watermelon if you want any."

"Get outta my face, ya midget. I feel like a heap o' dogshit."

"Fine. It's here if you have a change of heart." Hitsugaya sets the plate down on the small dining table with a soft clank. "I'll be outside on the porch." I listen to his bare feet padding against the wood floors. Suddenly, a thought hits me.

"Uh, Hitsugaya?"

The midget turns around. I notice the light stains on the sleeves of his shihakusho—bloodstains from my wound yesterday. "What?"

I divert my attention from the faint reminder of my failure. "How long am I gonna be here before I'm… in the clear?"

"It depends," Hitsugaya replies. He crosses the room and sits beside me. "I performed basic healing Kido on your injury last evening, and my Baa-chan cleaned and wrapped it. Suffice to say, Soi Fon's signature attack didn't kill you."

"Of course not," I say matter-of-factly. Soi Fon's Shunko was a speck of dust in comparison to Yoruichi's. The Shihouin's attack completely crumbled Mashiro's mask back when we sparred with her.

"At best, it's going to be a couple of days before you can get back on your feet. We've got limited resources here." Hitsugaya sighs.

"A couple of days!" All the muscles in body act accordingly, and I jolt up into a sitting position. Instantly, rippling pain flares across my abdomen, spreading into my upper torso. I suck in a breath. Before I know it, I'm flat on my back once again, sucking air into my lungs like a fish out of water.

"Maybe even longer if you keep exerting yourself like that!" The midget berates.

"That's not the point!" I shoot back. "Lemme ask ya this, Hitsugaya! Are ya just gonna stay here an' wait for me to rest up? Do you realize how much ground she can cover in a couple o' days? Ya better run off and find her or else she's gonna get too far awa—"

"I can't do that," he interrupts. His reiatsu flickers faintly. "We're stuck in this situation together, considering how Soul Society takes us both as felons now. I've got no choice but to stay here. As long as you are here, my Baa-chan's at a 100% risk of getting in trouble."

I falter. "Yeah." His words sound like an accusation, but I don't react to them. They're very much true.

The look in Hitsugaya's eyes is forlorn. He stares at the bandages on my abdomen, listlessly drumming his fingers against the floor. It always seems like I'm hit near my tummy; the Winter War and now this. "You're bleeding again," he comments. I glance down. Sure enough, a pink blob dribbles outward across the wrappings, slowly becoming a bright, angry red.

"Shit," I mutter.

The midget is already on it. He retrieves a roll of clean bandages from a cupboard and proceeds to unwrapping the bloody scraps on my stomach. As he works, I watch that pesky little bang bouncing about his forehead like a flier. Words can't describe how much I want to take my Zanpakuto and shear that chunk of hair clean off.

* * *

><p>For two days, Sarugaki remained anchored to the tatami mat, doing nothing but sipping soup and listening to Grams relate childhood stories. Hitsugaya chose to stay anchored to the front porch partly to give them more space and partly to spare himself from remembering the embarrassing stories. Sarugaki laughed at his juvenile mishaps, having too much of a fun time making snide taunts and remarks.<p>

It has been forty-eight hours since they have arrived at the first district of West Rukongai. Forty-eight hours for Hinamori get run farther away. Forty-eight hours for Soi Fon to narrow down their location.

Hitsugaya kicks a small rock down the hill of Grams' front yard. He watches it crush the dew-kissed grass as it bounces down the slope, rolling to a stop at a neighbor's vegetable garden. A speckled rabbit bolts from the tomato plants, bounding across the yard and into a mess of shrubs.

"Hey, midget!" Hitsugaya turns at the voice. Sarugaki stands before the porch. White bandages peek from the neckline of her shihakusho, but her loose hair easily sweeps across the evidence. Clinging to a tall stick for support, she hobbles towards him. A wry grin spreads itself across her freckled face. "I'm up an' ready, so let's get goin' now!"

Hitsugaya raises an eyebrow. "Really," he remarks.

"Hell yes! I've never felt so alive in my entire life!"

"You're not serious, are you?"

Sarugaki scowls. She jabs her stick towards his knees. "You stupid? I'm just takin' a walk, idiot!"

"I see." He follows her, observing rugged movements down the dusty path in slight amusement.

"Why're ya followin' me?" she demands, pivoting around. "I'll be fine by myself!"

"I have to," Hitsugaya replies. "If I don't, what happens if you trip down a hill? No one's going to be there to drag you back up."

"I ain't askin' for your help, baldy!"

He accompanies her nonetheless, much to her self-evident annoyance. With many complaints along the way, they meander into a peaceful field sprouting with young and vibrant daffodils.

"This where you broke your knee?" Sarugaki grunts. A light breeze trickles across the field; the yellow and white flowers sigh in response.

"Oh… yeah," Hitsugaya mumbles. "That incident. Grams told you that as well?"

"Jumpin' off a boulder?"

"Yeah. So she _did_ tell you that." He heaves a sigh and looks out over the azure horizon. The torrential rain swarming the sky for the last few days seems to have left on a positive note. Without a cloud in the sky above, the sun casts its cheerful glow over the swaying field. "Hinamori and I always came here as kids."

"As kids?" Sarugaki repeats. Stray blonde strands whip across her face, and she brushes them aside with a hand. "That's what you guys did as kids?"

"What are you talking about?" Hitsugaya frowns. "Isn't that what everyone does as kids? We're practically _supposed_ to play hide-and-seek and dare each other to do stupid things when we're young—especially in a natural playground like this." His eyes skimmed over the vibrant field. At last, he spots the boulder standing stalwartly amidst the flowers. "There it is."

Hitsugaya leads the Vizard through the daffodils. Tall grass itches at his ankles and shins, begging him to stay and play, but he doesn't stop walking until they reach the boulder. "This is where it happened." He thumps the rough gray rock with his fist.

"Where Hinamori dared ya to swan dive off this sucker, and you ended up shattering your knee?" Sarugaki asks with a bemused smirk. "It's only about three feet off the ground! How the hell did this thing mess you up?"

"My Baa-chan's explanation was that I wasn't as tall as the others as a child," he admits, lowering his eyes.

"And ya still aren't."

"Speak for yourself," Hitsugaya growls. "As far as I'm concerned, neither of us are what society deems as 'normal height.'"

"I'm still growin'," the blonde retorts. "I still got a chance."

"Same here."

They stand in the field, silent for a moment. The wind blusters against their faces, teasing their hair into eccentric dances. Out of the corner of his eye, Hitsugaya watches Sarugaki bite down on her bottom lip. Her face is scrunched up as if she is deep in thought. "Midget."

"What is it?" he answers sardonically, staring at a familiar crack in the boulder. It was made during a game of soccer against the neighborhood bullies who used to live down by the river.

"What…" Her voice trails off, and she rethinks her words. "What else didja do as a kid besides playin' all day?"

The question takes him aback. "What do you mean?"

The blonde gulps. "Did you ever have to… be punished?"

"Of course." Her eyes widen, and Hitsugaya laughs quietly. "After hours of playing soccer or running around outside, Grams always called me inside to do chores. I was a bit of a stubborn child, so getting me to wash the dishes and sweep the floor was a real hassle for her. Whenever I did a crappy job of doing the chores, Grams would make me eat extra vegetables at every single meal for a week. I couldn't stand it—"

"No, that ain't what I meant," Sarugaki cuts in. She regards him with a look of great intensity; her gaze almost pierces through him like a blade. "Did you have to be whipped? Or spanked?"

"Wait, _what_?" Words jumble together on Hitsugaya's tongue like an unsolved jigsaw puzzle. He swallows the confusion down and looks deep into the Vizard's eyes. "We don't do that here. It's against our… principles."

"Is it?" Sarugaki responds quietly.

"Sarugaki," Hitsugaya begins, deliberating on whether to venture forward or not. He takes a deep breath. "What was your childhood like?"

Immediately, the blonde's eyes flash in burning anger, and she rounds on him. "How the hell am I s'posed to know?!" She explodes. "I ran away from it!" Her teeth clench together tightly in a jagged line. "I never had all the crap you had as a kid! No pretty flower fields to romp around in, no swan divin' off a rock, no hide-and-seek!" She throws an arm towards the sky and earth. "All this never happened for me!" she hisses. Tears fall freely from the corners of her eyes onto the ground.

"Sarugaki," Hitsugaya breathes, unsure of what to do. "It's all—"

"It's not all right!" she snarls. "The stupid-ass camp completely fucked up my childhood! Hell, I don't even _know_ what the word 'childhood' means anymore 'cause o' that—" Without a moment's notice, Sarugaki casts her stick across the field and cocks back her arm, aiming a punch directed towards Hitsugaya's face. "—stupid hell camp!"

Hitsugaya catches her hit in the palm of his hand. This isn't a petty thwack to the head with her infamous flip-flop; it's a turbulent swing fueled by frustration and anger. "Sarugaki," he murmurs. "That's enough. We're past childhood now."

"We… are?" The Vizard's voice cracks. Her fist shakes uncontrollably against his hand.

"Yes," Hitsugaya says gravelly. "We're way past it."

Sarugaki relaxes and crumbles to the ground, taking ragged lung-fuls of air. It just occurs to Hitsugaya that the dark storm clouds have covered the sky once again, coming out of nowhere. There was not a hint of a cloud moments before—in fact, the sky was a wide stretch of soft blue. He redirects his attention towards Sarugaki, and upon an instant, his senses tingle. Her reiatsu. It crackles off of her in dark, stormy waves.

"I think," Hitsugaya says, helping the blonde up to her feet. "You _were _serious about being ready to go earlier today. Being able to throw a punch like that is all I need to be convinced." Lightning rips across the sky. "We'll explain to Grams, and we'll get out of here as quickly as we can."


End file.
